


Next Big Thing: Behind the Camera

by Mary_Jane221B



Series: Behind the Camera: NBT [1]
Category: Inception (2010), Next Big Thing AU
Genre: HGTV AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:57:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 56,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/pseuds/Mary_Jane221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens behind the camera of HGTV's Newest Smash; Next Big Thing! Exploring the lives and opinions of those people that make NBT happen; from the crew, the stage hands and the technical support we explore the true effects of working with our favourite stars. </p><p>Also known as the Joe the driver fic!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Driver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melinyel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melinyel/gifts), [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Next Big Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349583) by [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68). 
  * Inspired by [Fixer-Upper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234224) by [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68). 



> Alright I have no idea what this is, I entirely blame Earl Grey Tea and Melinyel for this. This is what happens when a fic becomes such a feature in peoples lives they write off shots about un-named AU characters just because they can! 
> 
> If anyone wants to understand exactly where this idea came from check out Next Big thing by the incredibly talented Earl Grey Tea and specific references to the wonderful Joe can be found in the comments of chapter 105. If you've not read NBT yet go do so because you're missing out on a wild ride and some wonderful comment parties. 
> 
> Peace out NBT lovers! MJ x

When one thinks of a driver, the image conjured is often that of the back of a head. Mostly viewed as an extension of the machine they control passengers tend to forget there’s anyone else present once they get themselves settled in the back seat. At least that’s Joe’s experience. He’d been a driver all over the world; he’d driven the traditional black cab in London, been the swearing stereotype in the yellow cabs of New York and experienced the grid lock of New Deli and Hong Kong, he’d travelled the world for twenty years and viewed it all through a windscreen. There’d never been a time in his life when he hadn’t been fascinated with cars; the mechanics, the design, the chemical makeup of the fuel, he had wanted to understand any and every aspect of their makeup.

The misconception most of the people he accepted as passengers had was that he had been forced into driving by some twist of fate, as a second choice, that he didn’t love every aspect of his job and that he wasn’t in charge of every aspect of his life; because who would choose to spend their life as a driver if they had another option. But that wasn’t the case for Joe; he had graduated from Imperial College London with a first in mechanical engineering and from there was set to start work as a manager at Rover, at that time one of the country’s wealthiest car producers, the only problem being that the idea filled him with dread more than anticipation. He’d never wanted to be held down, not by something as mundane as an office job no matter how well paid it was. One of the joys of cars was the ability to drive, to be free, to have adventures. Adventures were Joe’s true dream. He wanted to travel and see the world, too drink a beer on every continent, too follow the equator and see every facet of humanity available to him, he had realised the second he had been handed his diploma that he would never be happy living a sedentary life, he had never wanted any of that. So he let himself run, he took the savings he had marked for a flat down payment and bought a ticket to Tokyo, he was totally unprepared but he’d never been more excited. His father had thrown a fit, his brother had called him a ‘fucking fool’ but he didn’t care, his mother had stood by him in the airport when no one else came and told him to fly because we create our own freedom through the choices we make, or don’t.

He never stopped flying, or fleeing depending on which of his parents you asked, he’d spent over a decade following that path, he had spent the last summer driving dignitaries through Brussels before he’d moved on to Kabul, hoping to experience some culture before rocking back to Australia for a stint as a roadie on the gig circuit when he’d gotten the call from his brother in Devon informing him his mother had fallen ill in Boston and someone would have to go and bring her home. Home being a small village on the south west coast of England; he’d spent his life running from that tiny village and now it looked like necessity would force his return. He gave up everything of to make the transcontinental journey to his mother’s bedside, dropping his plans exactly as his brother knew he would the moment he mentioned she needed someone’s care. He found himself making the twenty hour journey from Dhaka to Boston to find his mother propped up in a hospital bed nursing a broken hip but a broad smile, making all the nurses fall in love with her, as was her talent and seemingly surprised to see her youngest son collapsed in the plastic chair next to her bed. 

‘Joe-Joe, what are you doing here? I thought you were off on the other side of the planet?’  She presented one of her cheek’s to him expecting a kiss before he explains himself.  

‘Oh sweetheart honestly, you should know better than to trust David. The man would turn all the signs of a cold into a certain case of the plague if he had his way, he’s such a hypochondriac, you should have called!’ and he would have except his brother had made it sound as if his mother was lying in a hospital bed dying, all alone and without the care of someone who loved her. He should most likely have seen through such a rouse but his brother knew his weaknesses.  His mother had spent his life defending him, loving him; supporting him of course he would leave everything to come to her.

His mother had moved to Boston just three months after divorcing his father, she’d felt stifled, a feeling Joe had always sympathised with, by their life and her marriage as had wanted some freedom and a challenge. He knew David, his eldest brother still blamed him to this day, some eight years later, for setting a bad example and shirking his family responsibilities by jetting off around the world and driving all manner of vehicles wherever he went but he loved his life and he’d never apologised for making the decision to leave England behind.  

‘It’s alright mum; I don’t mind staying until you’re back on your feet. I could probably use some home comforts myself honestly. I’ll be glad of a real shower.’  

His mother laughs at that, he knows she’d never stopped worrying about him. He called every chance he got but what with the time zone differences they hardly ever caught each other. He’d have to stay for a while anyway. He needed to work and save in order to make his next trip, not to mention pick a destination.

 Initially he’d gone as far afield as possible but now he was more selective, sometimes it was about the destination; he’d spent four months travelling over Thailand learning about Buddhism and teaching English and maths in the schools. He stayed in New Zealand for the incredible scenery and the opportunity to be an extra in the latest Peter Jackson movie; he’d ended up acting as a runner for the set teams, carrying both props and engineers to each of the stages and built a certain reputation for joy riding in the golf carts used for transporting the talent.

 ‘Well love, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look as if you could use one!’ his mother surrendered the keys to her Boston apartment and he kissed her cheek again before checking in with her doctors and surrendering his mobile number for them.

‘She’ll be out in less than a week but her recovery will take a long time, it would be best if she wasn’t alone throughout it.’ The doctor had regarded his out of control beard, shaggy hair and plane travelled clothes with a look of doubt but Joe was used to others judgement by now.  No one considered him beyond his ability to drive a car normally and he was comfortable with that arrangement. Anonymity had proved addictive.

He was greeted by uncharacteristic September sun and made a call to the only person he could think of with links to this part of the world, hopefully the man would know of some employment, construction, deliveries or in the case of Dominick Cobb more likely a getaway driver.  The call was answered with construction sounds heavily present over the connection; chances were looking good so far.

‘Cobb’

‘Dom its Joe, from Kabul’

‘Joseph Page? What the hell are you doing with a Boston area code?’

‘Long story mate, bloody long one, any chance of me buying you a pint and then maybe buttering you up to help me find a job?’  Joe holds the phone away from his ear when loud swearing carry’s over the connection; the voice doing the shouting isn’t Cobb’s. Too harsh and definitely too British for that, where the hell was he?

‘Joe? You still there? It’s a madhouse here. Did you just say you needed work? You’re a driver right?’

‘Yeah I’ve done driving work, why?’

‘Because you might be just what I need, any good at wrangling designers, construction crews, real estate agents, numerous camera crews and members of the public and making them work as a team?’

‘What the hell are you talking about? Where are you?’

‘Currently on the set of HGTV’s soon to be hit ‘Love it or List it’ or as I’m choosing to call it my own personal hell. But look if you’re serious I could really use a good fixer right now, what do you say, up for the challenge?’

Challenge, what a magical word, ‘Sure count me in.’


	2. The Designer

Joe had worked in construction before certainly, but never on a project quite like the houses on ‘Love It or List It’. When Dom had explained the premise of the show it had been as a housing programme putting the benefits of renovation against the ‘excitement’ of a brand new home.  The participants; normally heterosexual couples with some apparently huge relationship woes, came with long lists of entirely contradictory desires and the shows presenters Eames, the designer and Arthur, the real estate agent, would do their best to perform minor miracles. Still in its debut season the show’s format was similar to a few others Joe was aware of from across the globe, Dom was pinning his hopes of the presenters to make the show stand out, he hadn’t met Arthur yet but if the man was in any way as unusual as Eames he thought the show was a certainly set for success. Joe could only describe working with him in terms of experiencing seven days of living in a cyclone; his first week on team had inevitably reminded him of the seven months he’d spent chasing storms across the plains of Oklahoma and ever since he’d seen the manic whirlwind of activity in such a vein.  

The first day on project was spent with Eames diligently pondering designs; normally folded under some item of furniture while his team took measurements and checked for structural issues. Paul, a man who seemed to hold the dual roles of construction crew manager and Eames wrangler would approach the designer three hours later, once the measurements and checks were complete to get a list of priorities for the day. Unfortunately by this point Eames would have been distracted by some tiny nuance of a single room and would only be able to tell Paul that he wanted some impossible item procured because it would pull that single room’s design together.

Apparently used to this method Paul would sigh quietly before asking the assembled workforce to start stripping wall paper and sand down walls, reminding them not to throw out all of the wallpaper because Eames apparently had a tendency of recycling old specimens elsewhere, he’d take a small contingent of the best builders and start fixing the structural issues; these normally consisted of replacing wooden fixtures, treating rot, rust and water damage, while everyone got to work.  Joe tended to join the team stripping wallpaper or hauling furniture into storage containers until he found himself being pulled aside but Dom or Paul with instructions of ‘handling’ the wayward designer, normally consisting of locating him and convincing him to see some form of big picture, he wasn’t certain any of his big speeches had any effect on the man’s productivity but he was always better after them, better than the initial stage at least.  At that point, more often than not, Joe would find Eames lying in one of the clear rooms ‘visualising’, which to Joe’s eye normally looked similar to French ennui, the only thing for Joe to do was sit and wait for movement before starting his speech, this had become Joe’s job on the first project after Eames had declared him his new favourite person,

‘We have to come up for a name for you Joe, a code name.’

‘What about the Driver?’

‘Dull, no it needs to be exciting,’

‘I’ll leave it in your hands; after all you’re the creative maestro here.’

‘See Joe, blind faith, that’s why you’re my favourite.’

Joe hadn’t been certain it was blind faith more than a general lack of opinion, he’d never really had a nick name growing up, he was just Joe, all over the world, just Joe.

When Dom had introduced him around the set on that first project it had been as a member of the shows construction team, as such he’d be on every project rather than simply the ones in Boston, he small bit of built in travel was keeping Joe sane, he’d bonded with the three other members of the permanent team quickly; Harriet (better known as Harry), Franco and Matt were easy folk to get along with; they told him which members of the team to avoid, which of the film crew would go out of their way to make you look like a prat and how no one really listened to Cobb because the man had no sense of reality outside of himself.

 Joe had readily adapted to this new version of Dominick Cobb although he had to say the Kabul version had been a good deal more fun. Dom, referred to  by everyone near enough everyone as Cobb, successfully inhabited that part of stress between heart attack and murder with something a kin to grace but much more passable as a well developed survival instinct. Paul was their contractor the majority of the time but the man did run a successful business and occasionally they’d be subjected to someone less inclined to follow Eames whims, which inevitably led to some form of fall out with Dom pacifying the contractor and swearing up and down that if Eames didn’t change his process the show would be ruined before it even had a first season.

Joe had wondered during his first few days on project why Dom did keep the designer around, how could anyone be worth this level of insanity, the unorganised chaos was not a cohesive work environment. But then day four had hit and he’d arrived to a veritable maelstrom of activity. Smaller teams were working in every room and Eames was right in the centre, directing the activities, jumping from room to room and giving highly specific instructions; more often than not immersing himself in tasks before being pulled to another room to do the same. Joe found himself being hauled along with the designer and helping him to fit light features or replace windows, they’d spent a memorable afternoon replacing a banister, the two of them working in tandem to finish the job more quickly than Joe would have thought possible.

It was then that Joe realised the truth about Eames, the man was a genius, he was a designer with artistic tendencies this was true, vulnerable to the eccentricities that accompanied a brain like his but he was also one of the hardest working men Joe had ever met. He threw himself bodily into every design, mind, body and spirit, each of his designs represented a small part of himself and as such it took him a little longer to get there but he produced things of great beauty. The entire house would be embedded with feeling and contain such a flow that Joe found himself believing few would be able to walk away from it.  Who wouldn’t want to live and exist in a work of art?

He’d fallen slightly in love during that first project, not with Eames, the man was brilliant but most definitely not his type, he’d learnt to avoid artists after an experiment in monogamy during his year in Milan and Helena had been enough of an experience to put him off the idea of relationships for a long while. They inevitably left him feeling stifled and he resented being held in place by anything or anyone, no, he hadn’t fallen in love with the man or anyone, he’d fallen in love with the experience. He found himself swept up into the whirlwind with a smile, the feeling was similar to immersing yourself in the rush of a new city and finding a temple hidden somewhere in its depths, protected from the pains of reality.

That last day, when the finishing touches had been made and Paul had packed the construction team and equipment up and left the three members of team Eames with the man himself, drinking beers on the recently completed deck,

‘You know I’ve travelled the world and never experience a week quite like this one.’

Joe had been considering this fact all day while following Eames around the site making notes of paint touch ups and hanging the new art deco prints he and Matt had found on a ‘thrift store scavenger run’, he’d spent his life jumping from place to place so often that he’d stopped making an effort to form bonds. That level of detachment had proved impossible with this small group. They were so tightly woven, gravitating around Eames with a practiced ease and easy friendship that he’d found himself inevitably drawn in. 

Laughter seems to follow Eames around, he’d noticed this, no matter which room he entered, no matter how busy the assembled group of workers he would always find a way to make them smile and laugh, what could be taken as a mere facet of his personality Joe had come to realise was just one of the many masks Eames took on over the length of each project. When he’d asked Harriet about this, she’d told him that the truth about Eames was he was a master of disguise;

‘He can get a read on someone, anyone, and produce a facade which is perfect for putting them at ease. It’s one of the reasons he’s such a wonderful designer, he can read the client, understands if they want him to be funny, comforting or serious and that’s who he is for them, he becomes their best friend, therapist, parent, whatever they need to get through the process, it’s odd really they all walk away feeling fulfilled, not knowing they’ve been taken in by a facade. It’s not just clients either, he can do it with anyone, with the construction crew they want someone fun; someone to make the work seem a little easier and make them feel worthwhile, which is why Eames acts in that manner with them, he’s a skilful comedian and a devilish joker. They have Paul to be serious and to maintain order and Eames to provide a relief from that, you don’t want to be around for April fools the man is a menace. For the design team; he’s more of a traditional boss, he has a vision and we provide that for him’, Harry tended to organise the groups of decorators who came in to paint and work on specific pieces, she had a design history in restoration pieces and Eames liked to set her a challenge for each house, it was never anything that would take her off site because he needed her here but in her own words they kept her emotionally and creatively fulfilled.  

‘Alright but which is the real Eames?’

‘They’re all a little bit of Eames, but in my experience you’ll never find the real Eames here, not surrounded by the cameras or submerged in this sort of non-stop design environment. He’s so much calmer than people realise, or then his terrible shirts suggest, you’ll see what I mean on the last day, just try and keep up until then.’ She’d cast him a wink then before she had to run off when Matt had turned up looking sheepish holding a broken end table.  

They’d sat for two hours that night, swapping stories about nightmare jobs and Eames explaining a little about how he read each client. Dramatically whispering that he mostly designed for himself and convinced his clients through magical trickery that they loved what he’d done. Joe thought this might be in some way true, inevitably Eames would leave his mark on a client’s home that was his own but the end result was completely beautiful as well as functional, he couldn’t envision anyone complaining,

‘On my first jobs, back when I was a young, green, naive designer I actually followed briefs, a client would tell me what they wanted and I would do it, but you see that’s the great secret of design, clients know fuck all about what they want and the majority of the time have really fucking awful taste. Oi don’t laugh so much I’m spilling my secrets here, listen up young ones for I am full of wisdom,’  These are the jokes Eames tells when there are no camera’s around, they’re slightly self deprecating, full of swear words and brutally honest, ‘So I have perfected the art, my young Padawan’s, listen up, careful now’ Harry and Matt are now stifling their laughter poorly behind their shaking beer bottles, Eames has been drinking them under the table for the better part of an hour and the man is a little rat arsed by now, they’d gotten through twelve bottles and he knew for certain that he and Harry had only had one a piece, the majority seemed to have ended up in their great design leader however, he leans heavily on Joe, his hand pushing into his shoulder as the man tries to stand without swaying in order to deliver his great words of wisdom,  ‘the art of the perfect con. I Eames, design extraordinaire am HGTV’s most successful con man and I am damn proud. Now someone, make me a crown.’   

Joe pours him into the cab of his truck shortly after this; one of his jobs on set has been driving Eames every day. Joe reckons the man can drive but likes to spend his mornings working on design ideas, spreading fabric samples and one morning photographs of stormy skies across his dash board.  This evening however the designs are done, Eames work is over except for filming tomorrow and everyone seemed to be of the opinion Eames found that portion the easiest. They’d all said it was because of his relationship with his co-star that Eames thrived so much on camera, something about electric chemistry and banter. Harry, Matt and Franco had talked him into staying on set tomorrow to see the pair in action, Harry stating categorically that he’d have never seen anything quite like the couple in all his travels,

‘Joe, serious question time,’ Joe had become immune to these questions within two days, Eames would occasionally pounce on you when you were in the middle of finishing some task and ask you inane questions like; ‘If you could be a colour which colour would you be?’ and his personal favourite ‘You’re stuck on a desert island with only one superhero for company, which superhero would you pick.’ The answers never seemed to matter but when he’d finally picked Thor because of his old fascination with mythology he’d earned himself a genuine grin off the man. Joe thought it was possible any answer would have earned him the same, Eames liked to be indulged and Joe had no issue with doing so.

‘Ok, what’s the question?’

‘Do you believe in true love?’

‘Yes’ Eames laughs at how quickly he answered, in his drunken state he’s more lounged in the seat than sat up straight, he’s curled in some impossible position so his knees are drawn up so they rest against the glove box,

‘I think I’m in love Joe-Joe’ it’s said with such a wistful sigh at the end that Joe wants to laugh.

‘Oh yeah, who’s that with then?’

‘Arrrrrtttthhhhhuuuuurrrrr, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, isn’t it just a brilliant name, he’s such a darling, he’s my darling,’ Joe does laugh now, he’s had his fair share of work place dalliances.

‘So you and the co-star? From what people have said about him I don’t imagine he appreciates being called darling, it’s a very British thing calling people pet names like that.’

‘But it is serious Joey, so serious, he is my Darling, you see it’s his face and his smile and oh god you’ve got to see these dimples. They’re the best thing ever, EVER Joe. I just, every time he says anything I start running my mouth and I sound like a prat and I bet he hates me, but I just can’t think around him because of these dimples, these dimples kill my brain Joe, it’s like I am mush, he makes me into mush. Do you think he hates me Joe?’ 

‘I don’t think anyone could hate you Eames, have you told Arthur? Made your move?’

‘No, no no no, I can’t make a move he doesn’t like me, he hates me, he makes me an idiot.’

‘You’re no idiot Eames, you should play up the accent, the accent always works believe me.’

‘You’re such a scoundrel Joe’

‘That’s me, Joseph Page, British Lothario, a modern day Casanova that’s me.’

‘Don’t you love anyone Joe?’

‘I love many people Eames but I’m not in love with anyone.’

‘Sometimes I wish I wasn’t’ the last is said so quietly Joe almost misses it. He keeps his eyes on the road, minutes later the sound of soft snoring fills the cabin his truck. He’ll wake Eames once they reach his apartment but there’s no point before then, the man is too far gone to make any real sense this evening.  He’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning when he picks the man up in the morning to see how much he remembers.

‘I have your nickname Joey,’ maybe not sleeping then, ‘You fix things, when things go wrong, you fix them, you are The Fixer.’  Joe chuckles lightly, his boss is somewhere between consciousness and a drunken sleep,

‘Alright Eames, I shall be The Fixer if you need me to be.’

‘I hope you can fix me then’.  

 


	3. Filming Day

As it turns out Eames is a master at avoidance, as Joe suffers from the same predilection he doesn't call him on the fact that when he collects him the next morning; Eames the owner of a particularly chalky complexion and wearing sunglasses, he allows the man to direct them in a conversation about the ideal weather for growing Wisteria. A private client has been showing Eames designs for a semi-indoor garden; Joe refused to acknowledge the inherent pun in Eames discussing ‘erecting a semi-enclosed structure’ the man was clearly beyond hungover and also, apparently, heartsick for his co-star. 

They spent the ten minute wait at Starbucks and the further fifteen in Pavement, Joe's morning ritual involving enough real coffee to allow him to keep up with his new friends, if he could simply have it provided intravenously he would but until that day comes he drags Eames the necessary blocks to his favourite caffeine dealer. Eames orders a drink that sounds to be more caramel than coffee, clearly the man's got no history of diabetes in his family to worry about and Joe orders a real coffee because he at least likes to pretend to be a grown up on work days. They continue to discuss the pruning requirements for such an invasive climber for the duration of their journey; Eames had become concerned when he found images of out of control strains of the plant covering entire sides of a house but Joe knew it could be controlled, he'd seen the enchanting beauty the plant was capable of throughout his travels. He pulled up the photos of his week layover in Japan last year, he'd grown to love Japan, the intricacies of the language and the societal dynamic meant every visit was in someway different, he'd visited the Shohaku Art Museum during his second visit to the country, it now formed a fixed point of any layover in or near the city that housed it, the art and exhibits were engaging but the gardens held the major draw for someone fascinated by nature; they'd created a tunnel out of wisteria controlled by a wicker built trellis, the blooms fell in great ropes from the ceiling and the smell they created was so overwhelming it was possible to come out feeling slightly intoxicated.

'Seriously Eames it was beyond beautiful, it was almost dreamlike with how they'd arranged the blooms, for some people it would be a version of heaven i'm sure, a nirvana from city life, if that's what your client wants there should be a way to tame it surely,' Eames looks tempted but Joe knows he's not sold on allowing something that spreads so easily into a design he's passionate about, ‘Maybe there’s a more controllable strand in Japan, I can contact someone I know that works in Asian horticulture if you like? I'm sure she'd be willing to point you in the right direction.’ Eames is giving him a look he chooses to interpret as fond with a twist of confusion; he recognises it as the same look he likes to give Harry when she starts talking about her Hogwarts is real conspiracies. Joe had only heard a short rant on the topic before Franco had pulled him out of the conversation calling it an act of mercy.    

‘Do you just know everyone Joe?’

‘Nah, I just meet lots of people when I travel and what with my irresistible personality,’ he throws a wink at Eames as they pull up outside the lot where the newly renovated house is standing; Eames seems to be frozen in place, hand clutching the caramel monstrosity so loosely Joe starts to worry about trying to catch it before the trucks interior gets an inadvertent make over.  Harry and Franco are standing by the gate, Franco with his lips wrapped around a cigarette looking to be doing his best at ignoring Harry’s dramatic rambling, but Matt’s not with them, he’s stood off to the side talking to a man Joe’s never been introduced to, but by the dilation of Eames pupils and the minor tremors he seems to be rocking he would hazard a guess at the man’s identity. Joe’s reminded unconsciously of the designer suit wearing accountants of wall street and the traders of the New York City Stock Exchange, the man looks to stand a little under six foot, his brunette hair looks to be set with some form of gel and Joe’s struck by the thought that the man looks to be a perfect juxtaposition of Eames.

‘That’s him then? Arthur?’  Eames makes a somewhat affirmative noise from his throat he keeps flipping the edge of his coffee cup lid with his nail, Joe's been tempted on a few ocassions to procure the designer some form of stress ball but he can see it causing more drama than it would solve; Eames would likely throw it through a window accidently, ‘You know I wouldn't say anything about yesterday don’t you? For what it's worth I think you should say something’ he ensures he emphasises the you specifically he's not kidding when he says he'd never say anything, the men are old enough to sort themselves out in his opinion. 

‘It’s not like it would make a difference, Arthur, sort of, hates me.’

‘You’re kidding, why would he?’ Eames tries shrugging it off but Joe waves his hand in a small circular motion to indicate he should continue, he’s not about to drop this when they're finally getting somewhere, the text conversation he and Harriet had the night before had filled him in on the unending number of instances where Eames had talked himself out of saying something to his co-star, they'd supported it initially because the idea of the two presenters shagging had filled them with dread, how would the show survive a breakup, or worse they feared the chemistry would be ruined by awkward interactions. But Eames had slowly evolved into a love drunk fool when around Arthur and according the Harry at least the other man was just as bad, following Eames around the newly renovated houses like an open mouthed guppy, they said he would surely be the king of reaction shots but Joe could only think of a few instances where sheer bewilderment would be an appropriate reaction image. 

‘Well I mean it’s possibly because he’s a competitive arsehole who keeps losing or maybe the fact he doesn't think I take his job seriously, just because I've made a few jokes, he takes himself so seriously I just want to fluster him, shake him up you know’  

‘Ok. But why would that make him hate you? Dislike maybe, be pissed off sure but hate's a strong reaction to someone being a prat to you.’

‘Well…’

‘Ok. What else?’

‘No, look, it’s nothing’ Joe raises an eyebrow and Eames rolls his eyes in response, their interactions sometimes remind him of ones he's had with his other except the role he plays has been reversed, ‘It’s just he makes me act like a dick.’

Joe can’t stop laughing, ‘You mean like a playground crush? You can't use fancying him as an excuse for behaving like a seven year old, you're a grown up for christ sake.’

‘I know, I know, it's just I don't know what to do. Everything I do pisses him off; I try to be all charming but it's like he’s bloody immune, the only time I get a decent reaction from him is when we're going over my rooms, then he's charmed, it's like he likes my designs more than he likes me.’

‘Ouch, you know it’s going to be bad when the accent doesn't make them swoon. Isn't it good he likes your designs, shouldn't you be taking that as a massive compliment because I think it is one. Your designs are reflections on you, maybe you should try showing him the bits of you they reflect rather than this’ he indicates the whole of Eames with his right hand, 'because this is three part bullshit to every one part genuine Eames, be you, maybe that would make him swoon.'

‘Shut up you tool, what if I don't want him to like me for my rooms, no one's ever fallen in love with someone because of their rooms. I want him to like me.’

‘Alright, so your normal british charm hasn't worked, you've said that, maybe it's time to try something else, if you're serious about him. And as for him liking you give him a reason too!’

‘Something else? A reason to like me? Like what putting on a tap dance.' Joe's never known Eames sneer before, it's an ugly look for such a handsome man, his voice is think with sarcasm but a much more noticeable chunk of self doubt to Joe's mind.

‘No, and we need to look at why you jumped to tap dancing as a tool for seduction later, like being nice to him, just genuine kindness, consideration, be his friend, why do people just try and jump straight to the serious stuff and the shagging, be fun and friendly, be who you are with us four and he'll realise you're a really nice guy, I don't know what else to say, just do something nice for the man Eames. Maybe be less obvious with the flirting you know.’ Eames doesn’t look convinced, ‘or you could pull his pig tails and push him in the mud, you know, I’m sure that would work just as well.’

‘The only type of flirting I know is the obvious kind, I don't know how to talk to someone I like without the flirting, it puts normal people at ease, they like the attention, but not Arthur, no no, it just makes him clam up and go a little pale,’ Eames throws his hands up nearly losing the coffee he’s holding, ‘Look its fine, I’ll get over the whole thing. Let’s just go to work.’ They climb out of the truck’s cab, Joe taking the cardboard holder with the coffee’s they picked up for Harry, Franco and himself. Joe’s always been surprised at when inspiration hits, it waited long enough to find him during his time in London, the university path being that of least resistance rather than the preferred, he stares down at the coffee cups wondering if the idea is even worth trying. But a single glance at Eames, who’s wearing an expression Joe will forever refer to as the ‘pathetic puppy look’ makes his decision easy,

‘Do you know how he likes his coffee Eames?’

‘What?’

‘Arthur, how does he take his coffee?’

‘Oh, a Café Americano’

‘Milk, sugar, anything?’

‘That half and half stuff, some of that, why?’

‘Great, here, take him this cup and tell him you bought it for him.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because it's kind, the man looks like he could use a decent cup of coffee and this is the one we stopped to get from Pavement, best coffee in Boston, not your Starbucks crap.’

‘But, but this is your special coffee, you make us stop every morning for this stuff, it's like a drug for you.’

Joe considers quickly if he should be worried his morning coffee ritual is causing drug comparisons in people other than himself, ‘Yeah well, I’m donating it to the cause. The Eames true love cause. So go. I’m giving these to the team. Go.’  He shoves the coffee into Eames hand drawing the caramel monstrosity from his other hand, he wanders towards the madly gesturing woman and Franco, whose cigarette has burnt out and he’s tipped his head back towards the clear sky, his eyes closed, clearly doing his best to block out the high pitched rantings of their co worker. They both acknowledge his good mornings with waves and in Harry's case a large smile, he tries to convince himself that the way her eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiles doesn't make his heart do stupid things.

‘Thank god caffeine; please give the jabbering one something to shut her up.’

‘Hey! I’m making important points’ Harriett’s pout could rival Eames on one of his bad days, Franco looks like he agrees, Joe remembers him being drunk enough that Matt insisted on taking him home rather than letting the man navigate public transport,

‘No you’re making crazy points,’

Harry actually stamps her foot at the perceived injustice, ‘No I am right, it’s not crazy when you’re right. Joe tell him, if i'm right then I can't be crazy’

‘Here love have your coffee, let Franco recover from what I am sure is a vicious hangover and i'm not convinced sanity is correlated with correctness but for what it's worth I don't think you're crazy.’ The man wraps a hand around the espresso cup while showing Joe his middle finger. Harry accepts the cup still grumbling lightly about something that sounds like ‘grumpy bastard builders’. The three of them lean back against the fence and watch the crew set up, Eames has made it to within two feet of Arthur but stopped, the man’s a fool.

‘What’s the boss doing?’ Matt’s made his way over, accepting the coffee and joining them in their staring,

‘He is attempting to give Arthur a coffee.’

‘WHAT!’  All three of them look shocked; it’s quite an achievement for Franco who Joe’s only ever seen wear an expression of bored bemusement, ‘You actually got him to do something.’

‘You work miracles Joe.’   They all huddle together, to anyone else they would surely look to be deep in conversation but they’re all turned to keep the pair of men in view. Arthur’s shuffling his feet in place, possibly awkward but equally possibly cold, the sky’s clear but it’s definitely cold. 

‘I’d believe that if he manages to move those last two feet,’

‘Come on Eames’

‘Do you think it looks bad that we’re all staring?’

‘Do you care?’

‘No, not really.’

Eames moves forwards again and goes to tap Arthur on the shoulder,

‘Oh god it’s happening, I can’t watch.’ Harriet pushes herself into Joe’s body, his arm moving to instinctively hold her around her waist ‘Tell me when it’s over’

‘Harry we’ve been watching these two idiots dance around each other for months, how can you not watch now Eames has grown some balls?’

‘It’s too glorious to watch directly, like an eclipse. They'd melt my eyes!’ 

‘That’s so stupid, an eclipse wouldn't melt your eyes, oh, oh look he’s giving him the coffee.’ At Matt’s words Harry turns around again, he finds himself missing the warmth a little when she pushes off him. It’s so bloody obvious they’re watching them but neither of the men seems to be aware of much outside their little bubble.  ‘We need to hear what they’re saying, someone get over there.’

‘We can’t go over there, we’re being obvious enough already, Eames will kill us if he knows he has an audience.’  The pair of them tilts towards one another where they’re standing; in Joe’s opinion Arthur seems much more attractive with a smile on his face,  

‘Oh god look at the dimples, it’s an overload of cute.’

‘Harry stop it you’re being too obvious,’

‘I’m not being obvious they are, look at them, oh god he’s blushing, the dimples and the blushing, Joe you’re a genius’ he feels like pointing out all he did was give up a coffee but he does feel like a bit of a genius in this moment and it doesn't do his ego any harm to have someone point it out, ‘Oh God, I can’t even, they need to make out, Joe make it happen, use your genius magic, go go.’

‘Oh no, my genius is used up for the day, this is on Eames’

‘Harry they’re not going to suddenly start making out,’

‘You don’t know that, it’s Eames after all.’ 

‘Yeah well Arthur’s a classy bastard Eames won’t corrupt him that quickly.’  It turns out they're free floor show is interrupted by Dom (Harry dramatically states that someone needs to garotte the man for spoiling the moment but the boys tend to think this would be an overreaction), bringing the couple on set again. Arthur’s coffee is taken away and they’re organised in front of the camera. Joe knows the show’s scripted to a degree; Eames likes to use the script sheets as doodle pages when he’s got designer’s block,

‘So how does it work, they just film them walking around the property and then the couple decides which they like best?’

‘Pretty much, except we already know from Arthur’s team that they couldn’t agree on a house they both liked, something about an urban, suburban split between the couple. The woman, she wanted to live in this incredible loft, like I saw the pictures, it was so cool, but the bloke, he wants them to start having a family, at least that’s what Arthur said this morning, so his favourite is this cute four bed  few blocks away.’  Matt’s might just be the best gossip Joe’s ever met, between him and Harry they’re never going to be without conversation matter,

‘So pretty much standard drama then, I swear this show’s going to be the same each week.’

‘I don’t think that’s true, every couple is different and the house always is. Eames will keep it interesting.’

‘Yeah but poor Arthur, he always ends up playing therapist.’  

***

Filming takes far longer than expected, as requested Eames turned one of the spare bedrooms into a child’s room but it appeared as if the request had been added by the husband and without the wife’s knowledge, fair to say the resulting argument had consumed most of the filming programme, both Eames and Arthur had taken moments to step out of the madness. It was draining to everyone involved but Arthur seemed to be taking it the hardest, he’s stood with the head of the camera crew Yusuf when they notice him wandering off to the edge of the property, he stops by the fence gripping the edge and bracing his weight on his arms.

‘It’s always a bad sign when he sneaks off for a cigarette, Eames is more open about it but I think it’s something Arthur is ashamed of.’

‘Does anyone speak to him when he does that?’

‘Matt sometimes, he isn’t that close to anyone really.’

He notices Eames wandering out of the house, he stops for a moment and just looks at Arthur before turning to walk in the opposite direction towards Joe and Matt,

‘Hey, so I don’t know if we’re going to get filming finished, Hannah, the wife, she looks about ready to throw something at Dom’s head. Can’t say any of us would blame her but Yusuf you might want to get in there before one of your camera’s gets targeted, Yusuf runs off swearing in what Joe thinks is Swahili.

‘Sounds like it’s been pretty rough today’

Eames drags a cigarette out of the packet Joe hands him, he tends to leave his in the truck but the pair has gotten into the habit of snagging one off each other at different times of the day. When on set its Joe’s responsibility, when they go shopping it tends to be Matt and when they’ve finished for the day it’s all on Eames.  

‘You could say that, it’s never fun watching someone’s marriage implode.’

‘They like the house?’

‘Yeah it was going fucking great before we got upstairs, didn’t even get to show off the sky lights in the master because all hell broke loose when she realised the other bedroom looked all kid friendly.’ Joe couldn’t think of a way the room in question was overtly for a child, it was suitable in design, soft yellow’s and dark woods, they’d spent an age finding a round window with a white frame because Eames enjoyed using light sources as statements sometimes. He’d checked out the recordings from the other houses they’d done and seen some constant’s in Eames design tastes, he’d wondered if the light thing was some kind of signature before realising it really didn’t matter either way.

‘Looks like Arthur’s taking it pretty hard.’ Eames takes a longer drag of his cigarette before nodding and looking towards his co-star, ‘so let me ask you why you aren’t talking to him? You clearly want to.’

‘I’m not going to force my company on him Joe; he doesn’t need me crowding him if he’s in a mood.’

‘Alright look, I might not know the guy or even know you that well, I admit but from here, looking at him with a completely objective eye, I’d say he’s fucking miserable and needs a hug. Do you know how lonely it is to feel all alone when you’re in an environment like this? He’s surrounded by people but he’s not talking to anyone. Just go over and check that he’s alright, if he tells you to fuck off then do but if not,’ Joe shrugs a little, he’s not kidding when he says he doesn’t know either of them very well, but he recognises that look, Arthur’s got some deep seated emotional crap and there’s nothing worse than being surrounded by people but having no one who cares about you in those moments, Eames still looks doubtful, ‘you kept saying you were in love with him, well he’s fucking hurting and needs a friend so put on your big boy boxers and go be one.’  Eames grounds the tail end of his cigarette into the dirt between their feet.

‘Sometimes Joe, I reckon you’re a right tosser.’ There’s no malice behind the words, they don’t hurt he’s been called a lot worse by people who actually meant the words. If he can help someone by speaking up he does, that attitude has made him some good friends but plenty more enemies. ‘But what the hell, the coffee thing worked, so fine.’

Matt comes up beside him as Eames leaves and the pair of them watch him approach Arthur, the other man had been looking on the verge of tears before and Joe can’t tell if having Eames come up to him would make that better or worse but it’ll likely do something and something might be a hell of a lot better than nothing in this case.

‘You know we’re starting to call you the wizard’

‘Why?’

‘You've been here for one project and you have made more progress with Eames than any of us have managed, the last time he saw Arthur he couldn't talk to him for the first hour and in the second he kept making these truly ridiculous double entendres which just seemed to be pissing Arthur off.’

‘It’s the British thing, don’t tell Harry but we’re all a little magic.’  

They watch in silence as the co-stars talk, Arthur’s wrapped around himself pretty tightly,

‘What’s Arthur’s deal?’

‘Don’t know really, he doesn’t deal well with some of the couples, doesn’t seem to have the same thick skin as Eames.’ They watch Eames join Arthur in leaning on the fence, the man’s gesticulating wildly while Arthur’s smile returns a little, he says something like makes Eames look a little solemn, Joe reckons he can make out Eames saying sorry for something, he doesn’t catch what but Arthur’s face has crumpled slightly and Eames is moving to enclose him in his arms.  

‘Seriously mate those are some definite wizard powers.’


	4. Viewing Party -episode 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are for all of the comment party players, you inspired some of the interactions in the next two chapters by just being you!
> 
> MJ X

There are thirteen episodes per season of ‘Love it or List it’ they’re seven episodes in before the show starts airing, there’d been talk amongst the producers about having a filmed viewing party to promote the show on social media but both Arthur and Eames had shot this down before it had started, Arthur has admitted, while blushing ferociously, that he had plans to watch it with his mother who was coming up just for the occasion. Eames merely stated he wanted to maintain some privacy, but he’d told Joe and Harry on the way home that he found the idea of watching himself on camera disturbing, he hadn’t wanted to experience, what in his opinion, would be an awkward moment in front of camera’s and also Arthur. Better to be in private with some hard liquor in case the entire show was a bust.  Once they’d dropped Eames in front of his apartment building Harry had clambered over to the front seat;

‘It’s sad he thinks it’s going to be terrible, he’s very charismatic on screen and Arthur’s pretty adorable too, I think it should work well.’

‘Of course it will, it’s a good show, he’ll change his mind when he sees it in person.’

‘So, me and the boys were thinking of having our own viewing party now that the forced revelry has been cancelled, do you want to come? Nothing fancy, just beers, pizza and potentially tequila if things on the programme turn nasty.’ Joe laughs at the mock shudder Harry does towards the end of her invitation.

‘I’d love to but are you sure I’m not interfering?’

‘Of course not, you’re our mate we want you there.’ Joe can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, he’s not been without friends wherever in the world he’s been but he’d never spent such an intense portion of time with the same group of people, except perhaps the monks but they had a very different version of socialising than Eames’ team.

‘Then I’d love to come, this is yours right?’ He pulls to the curb in front of an impressive brown stone property, they’re a rare commodity in Boston now that the majority have been turned into condos and the value of a property of this kind could go for millions.

‘Yep this is me, people are coming over for six, show starts at seven and everyone is bringing a pack of the most interesting beer they can and an original snack; the more insane the better, you know how we are.’  Harry winks at him before hopping out of the truck and making her way inside the building.

Joe tries to arrange his facial features into something that doesn’t resemble blind shock, his brain doesn’t correlate the link between the slightly insane, harry potter obsessed woman he knows and such an elegant property, they’re in Back Bay an area that’s known for its phenomenal wealth and he means no offense to Harry when he thinks she does not look like a millionaire. His mother’s area was in no way shabby but this building was something else entirely. He became aware that an idling truck in this area would cause some form of suspicion quite quickly, the owner of the property next to Harry’s was clearly twitching her curtains and the dog walker a block down seems to think he’s up to no good. He makes a mental note to have the truck cleaned before ever coming to this area again.

He spends the rest of the day with his mother, her physical therapy has been going well but she’s been grateful of the help with grocery shopping and driving, she’d started dropping some minor hints at him staying longer than the six months he’d originally planned, he’d worked out a contract with Cob to carry him through the time period and earn him the money he would need to get him back on the road but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted, it had been surprisingly easy to drop into a team of people and find a place amongst them. There was no language barrier or major cultural differences for him to be aware of and he was enjoying that but he knew himself, he wasn’t good at staying in one place, the itch to travel and explore always came back eventually and he didn’t want to hurt his mother by promising to stay and then bailing within ten months, she deserved better than that.

***

Joe agrees to be the designated driver for the boys tonight, he wasn’t involved in the first episode and as such doesn’t need the alcohol for either celebration or commiseration and they already know the renovation team (also known as team Eames) won but the concern seems to surround how it was translated onto the screen. In particular Harry and Matt are concerned with some specific pieces they restored which feature heavily in the living room;

‘If they don’t show a shot of the apothecary table I’m going to end someone.’ 

‘They’ll show it, they have to, it was a thing of beauty Harry’

They’ve arranged themselves in what Harry called ‘The Den’, it’s located in the basement of the brownstone and to Joe’s mind is more of a media centre which contains a small kitchen, the design is beautiful if eclectic and the major emphasis seems to be on the furniture used; the dark woods used for the tables, the maroon dyed leather of the sofa and chairs and the ornate iron chandelier help create an atmosphere of decadence Joe hadn’t been expecting.

‘You’re trying to figure out the room aren’t you?’

Harry’s rolling out two lots of pizza dough on the floured butchers block in the centre of the cooking space, there’s an indoor pizza oven; it looks to be a proper wood burner with a pizza stone in the domed enclosure and a wine fridge but little else, there’s no space built in for eating so Joe imagines the focus of the space is on creating television snacks rather than meals, granted he’s never seen anything as lavish as a wood burning pizza oven in a space dominated by a television but it works in the space and the smell is incredible. Joe sweeps his thumb across Harry’s forehead to dislodge the smudge of flour that had collected there, before answering;

‘It doesn’t seem very you honestly, I can see your touch in the coffee table and possibly the chandelier but nowhere else, you don’t seem the type to own such an obnoxiously large television.’ He aims for a teasing tone but worries it comes across as something more judgmental, he’s relieved when Harry laughs in response, there’s a pink tint running across her cheeks while she shakes her head lightly.

‘Yeah you’re right, this room is less me and more my Dad and the house has been in our family for six generations. Right now It’s just me living here but my father comes back occasionally and my grandmother’s been known to do fly in visits, each generation really adapted the space while they were living here, the front living room is still my Grandmother’s really, it’s a little too pristine for my taste.’

‘Which is your room then?’

‘Pretty much my bedroom and the dining room upstairs, my mother was in charge of renovating the kitchen five years ago and I do love that room too. She insisted this space got included down here as well, Dad’s pretty useless at telling her no.’

‘I’m not about to judge her when what you’re making smells this good, Does she love to cook? Did she teach you?’

‘She’s Italian in her heritage so it was a massive part of her life, and by extension mine, what about you? All that travelling you must have picked up some skills.’

‘I wish, I mean I can cook some great curry, that’s something I picked up when I was in Malaysia but I’m not great in the kitchen. I wouldn’t know where to start with making dough or anything.’

‘But dough’s so easy; come on you can help me. Grab that apron your shirt looks too nice to get covered in flour and semolina.’  He’s rolling up his sleeves when Harry grabs his arm, she tilts it into the light so she can see the ink more clearly, ‘this is beautiful Joe, what does it mean?’ The tattoo she’s focused on is the Buddhist symbol for harmony, formed through two fish with interweaving tails, it had been one of the dominant decorations in the monasteries he visited after leaving  Milan the first time, he’d returned to Thailand and spent four months finding his feet again, it wasn’t his only tattoo but it was one of the most obviously visible placed just above his left wrist, he explained the symbols meaning and the story behind its purchase while copying her movements with the dough. He was surprised not to see her flinging it in the air and wondered if that was done more for show than dough development,

‘Do you have more, tattoos I mean’

‘I get one from every place I live for more than two months; well I have been so far.’

‘Will you get one for here then? To remember your time in Boston?’

‘Maybe, I hadn’t considered it honestly; I’m not sure what I’d end up designing if I did.’

‘I think you should, I mean you’ve been here for more than two months and you should have something to remind you. Does it need to be a symbol?’

‘No, it could be anything, what’s next with this?’ Joe points to the dough, his hasn’t formed the same perfect circle of Harry’s but it’s near enough the same size.

‘We need sauce and cheese next, then toppings’ they work in silence for a number of minutes, Joe notes that she spreads less sauce onto the dough than he’d have expected and uses slices of what he assumes is mozzarella rather than grated, ‘I always wanted a tattoo.’

‘Why didn’t you get one then?’ he’s obsessively copying the placement of her cheese slices although he’s probably already cocked it up because of the sheer amount of sauce he’s somehow ended up with.

‘Well mostly because I have no idea what I’d get, don’t know how the parents would have felt when I was younger.’

‘Well you should pick something special to you, a phrase or symbol, they’re the best ones from personal experience, I never have a moment of regret for the ones that mean the most, like the fish or the one on my lower back, which is rather sadly I admit,’ He draws the back of his shirt out of his jeans so she can see the black script, ‘that is my name in elvish, I got that one while working in New Zealand, I was lucky enough to find an artist that was a Tolkien fan because otherwise the entire thing would be lacking something.’ He’s proud of that work, he’d spent some of the best months of his life on that set, the crews of people working had been far larger than he experienced with ‘Love it or List it’ but the atmosphere, the camaraderie and team work, was similar. If he was pushed he’d pick his current situation over New Zealand because of the people he worked with, they were less hierarchical than on a film set, Eames was perhaps a rarity in that he involved himself in every aspect of design; he’d spent the preceding afternoon sat in the sun with Harriet working on restoring an old arm chair.

‘I reckon these are finished, which beer did you bring?’

‘Ah, I went Belgian; strawberry beer, surprisingly tasty and not too sweet. Do you want one?’

‘Sure, looks like it’s your turn though.’

‘Turn?’ He has to make a conscious effort not to flinch in surprise while she rubs her thumb across his jaw.

‘Pizza making is a messy business,’ Harry smiles as she ducks to remove her head from the apron and Joe thinks there’s no logical reason for his face to feel warm now but he’s aware it does. 


	5. Viewing Party -episode 1 (Part 2)

‘If you two can stop groping each other for five seconds the show’s about the start.’ Harry’s eyes glint at Franco’s statement, she picks up the nearest soft thing, a throw cushion, and hurls it over arm at his head. He’s not even turned towards it but manages to duck before it hits him; it ends up smacking into the side of Matt’s head instead and causing the younger man to choke on his mouthful of beer. The resulting coughing fit lasts until the start of the show’s introduction.

_Sarah and Phillip are trying to raise their son in a cramped townhouse,_ exterior shots show a modern new build house surrounded by similar copies, it’s always been something Joe’s noted about new builds they’re designed to be replicated, cut to a shot of Sarah the mother sitting in the living room; ‘ _the study space is a bit ridiculous’_

Shot of Phillip working on the dining room table while Sarah works on a desk in their child’s room, shot returns to Phillip, _‘But I think there’s an easy fix to that in this house,’_ the cheerful background music seems a bit jarring to Joe, the camera changes to a shot of Arthur and Eames walking down a leafy suburban street,

‘That’s not even the road this house was on.’ Matt comments, Harry’s arranged herself on the floor with her laptop open in front of her, she’s on a website Joe doesn’t recognise but it’s got a blue background and the screen looks to be full of images, some moving and some forming a continuous story board, Franco cracks open his second beer while muttering something about editors,

_So two home experts will help solve their space issue, realtor Arthur will help find them a place as special as their family situation,_

‘That doesn’t even make sense; they were a pretty standard family in dynamic, traditional even.’ There are shots of Arthur smiling, wearing a bespoke navy suit and matching overcoat, and walking the couple through different spaces, mostly massive airy living rooms. There’s a surprising level of focus on the bathrooms, which although nice, fairly modern and covered in chrome, don’t appear to be anything special.

_While designer Eames,_ Close up shots of Eames face are followed by what Joe would describe as action shots, clearly not taken in the first days of the design process, he notices that a good number of them involve Eames bending down over something, the shot of course includes a perfect view of the man’s backside in what Joe’s now realising are indecently cut jeans, ‘Alright I’ll give him this, the man’s got a good bum,’ the side glance both Matt and Harry send him confirms his assumption that Franco’s quickly heading towards drunk, the man needs to accept his lightweight status.

_Will work to reorganise the space, to give everyone the room they need,_ the shot pans from Eames and Paul consulting a design plan to a team of two builders knocking down a wall, _but in the end Sarah and Phillip will have to decide what to do with their home._

A shot of the couple in deep discussion is followed by a title card saying Love it

_Will they Love it,_ title card saying list it, _Or List it,_ Shot of the couple telling Eames and Arthur their decision but cutting out just as Sarah starts to reveal their answer is followed by the title card of a red house on a green lawn.

‘Well that’s an ugly title card,’ Franco’s clearly going to be providing the commentary for this episode, Matt’s smothering his laughter in his beer bottle and Harry’s rapidly tapping the keys of her laptop, the episode moves on to the couples back story and interviews, there’s a real focus on the fact their son is growing and doesn’t have enough room to play, they’ve amped it up with emotional moments with the father talking about wishing there was more space for them to bond and Joe can’t help but wonder why no one thinks to go and play at a park anymore. But the house does look small and the shots showing the entry way make him think a major reason for that might be because of the use of ugly wooden panelling and poor light usage and there’s also a terrible bathroom suite in what can only be described as an avocado colour, that Joe thinks just needs scrapping,

‘God that colour still makes me feel nauseous,’ Harry who’s just run off to put the first pizza in the oven states as she returns to her laptop, Joe notes the website name Tumblr and thinks it might be some form of blog, the images on the screen are mostly design focused although there’s an intermingling of what he thinks are Harry Potter images. The dark haired profile of Alan Rickman seems particularly prevalent.

_‘I think there’s a lot we could do with space but we just need someone to show us how.’_

_‘I think it’s just too small, we’ve outgrown it as a family and it’s time to move.’_ The couple are still sat together in what Joe assumes is a dining space off the kitchen,the overly chirpy announcer continues to explain just how much the couples lives have changed since moving into the townhouse.

‘Of course their lives have changed they’d been in that house for near enough a decade, I mean come on!’

_‘As the couples rivalry heats up two home experts await their opportunity to get in the game, realtor Arthur expects to find them a larger home so they’ll sell,’_ shot of Arthur sat on a bench in a park, Joe feels vindicated in his earlier thoughts about shoving the father in said parks direction in order to have bonding space,  Arthur looks the height of professional, he’s waiting with a dossier on his lap and with his coat open slightly you can see the tailoring of his suit, having seen them in person Joe appreciates how well they translate on the screen, his perfectly styled hair just adds to the air of ‘untouchable’ he projects, _‘but designer Eames is sure he can find the space they need to stay within their current home, Eames and Arthur will tour the townhouse but first they’ll review the list of must haves.’_

Said list seems to contain everything from knocking down walls to levelling a  sunken living room, dining room option, Arthur is insisting that the sheer amount of work they want done makes it obvious they need to move, Eames starts calling him darling and proclaiming that he’s being ridiculous, you can see Arthur getting more and more wound up as Eames talks, _‘Darling you might be a wonder on the realtor scene but I can work wonders in any space, this list tells me that they need some help in realising their homes full potential and I shall do just that.’_ The show then cuts to commercial.

Joe’s surprised by how pronounced Eames’ accent is on screen but what hits him most of all is the memory of the conversation weeks ago in his truck where he made the comparison to Eames about behaving as if he had a school yard crush, he’s just witnessed precisely that, to be honest he’s not entirely shocked at Arthur’s annoyance, Eames was acting like a prick on screen,

‘Were they always like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘Squabbling like children, I mean Eames was walking the boundary of rude in that last exchange,’  Franco’s too lost in his latest beer to pay that much attention to the conversation but Matt seems to be considering his answer while Harriet moves to collect the pizzas.

‘No they’re not always like that but I think Eames has a thing for winding Arthur up, but I think it’s more like banter, it gets better because Arthur stops just taking it and not responding, it does seem bad just there but they’d only met twice before and they were both nervous, I don’t think Arthur knew what to make of Eames, he seemed shocked that someone was flirting with him so openly. We all know Eames is a ridiculous flirt but it’s always been more intense with Arthur.’

‘From the beginning?’ He’d heard the story from Eames but they’d never focused on the first few days. Eames seemed to think their flirtation had developed quickly after the first episode, something about Arthur’s face when he was looking around the rooms; he was intrigued to see this expression that could make a man simply fall in love.  Harry comes back and lays out the pizza’s, she quickly makes up a plate for Franco before insisting he eats every piece of the plate, the man grumbles slightly but takes a bite all the same, Joe’s grateful he doesn’t much like the idea of him passing out later.

‘Pretty much, did you know the first time they were introduced Arthur reached for a handshake and Eames shot him one of those special Arthur smiles and kissed his hand,’

‘You’re kidding, who does that?’

‘No joke, he legitimately kissed his hand, like in the stories of yore, I’m pretty sure Arthur would have been less surprised if Eames had walked up to him and punched him in the face.’

‘He turned a very odd colour that day, a kind of cross between blushing and that weird pallor you get just before you pass out.’

‘How the hell does that work?’

Matt and Harry answer in unison, ‘That’s Arthur’.

‘That shouldn’t even be possible, on a side note this pizza is amazing Harry.’  Matt makes some little noises of appreciation while nodding his head and even Franco manages a thumbs up,

‘Thanks, I had a good sous chef there at the end.’ 

The commercial break ends and the first shot shows Arthur and Eames entering the house, Arthur’s immediately critical of the dark hallway and claustrophobic feel, Eames fires back with a comment about Arthur underestimating him.  The longer they spend touring the space available the more comfortable you can see them becoming. Eames loses a little of the attitude and Arthur in turn loses some of the snark. Joe’s never seen them do this section before, the design team arrive after the tours taken place and while Eames is finalising designs enough for them to start.  The banter becomes easier and some of Eames more natural charm starts showing, he still calls Arthur darling but Arthur stops reacting to it, at least visually.  Lord knows what he was thinking inside his head. There’s a brilliant shot of Eames checking some closet space which requires another shot of him bending down, the difference with this shot Is that when the moments past you’re left with a reaction shot of Arthur’s brilliantly pink face and slightly dazed expression, none of them can stop laughing while Eames leads Arthur to the next bedroom,

_‘Well Darling shall we move on to the master then?’_ There’s something about the way Eames says the world master that is inherently sexual, from the look on Arthur’s face he would agree with the statement,

‘I’m texting Eames, I’m sorry I have too, he sounds like such a rake right now.’

‘I don’t understand,’ it’s unsurprising Franco’s slipped onto the floor while he was laughing, he’s now laid in a position which can in no way be comfortable but Joe imagines when you’re that off your face you don’t care about comfort in the same way. He’d been known to sleep in a cupboard while drunk before.  ‘He’s made out of man not metal.’

‘What?’

‘That doesn’t make any sense Franco.’

‘Guys he doesn’t know what you mean by rake,’

‘Oh, like a scoundrel or a hell raiser, someone out to steal innocent young men’s virtues.’  Franco seems genuinely distressed by this description, he scrambles to get up right and when he does proceeds to half fall over the coffee table,

‘Franco, where the hell are you going?’

‘We must stop him, we must protect him.’

‘What, who?’

‘Arthur.’

‘What about him?’

‘We must defend him.’

‘From what? From Eames?’

‘We must protect the Arthur virtue. Eames must be good!’ He’s fallen over the bottom step but is continuing, valiantly in Joe’s eyes, up the rest by crawling.

‘Franco stop, Eames isn’t really going to steal Arthur’s virtue. He might have already given it to someone else anyway.’ Franco stops in place on the stairs, he half falls into the wall and turns to look at them, he looks close to tears and the entire situation would be highly distressing if it wasn’t so damn funny. Matt’s been recording the entire exchange on his mobile but he’s shaking so much from the laughter that Joe is sure the video’s quality would be non-existent.   

‘That’s so sad though.’ His eyes have honest to god tears in them, in the background you can here Arthur walking the couple through the second listing he’s found them, they’re talking about a walk in closet and the woman’s sharing a laugh with Arthur over how unorganised her husband is, it’s obviously Arthur’s fake laugh, which he finds oddly depressing now that he’s heard the real one. Arthur being in some way false seems wrong, the man is honest to a fault most of the time, apart from the sarcastic jokes, because Arthur is the king of sarcastic one liners.

‘What’s sad Franc, come down again and tell us. The stairs can’t be comfy.’  Franco slides down three of the stairs without standing, he’s going to ache all over tomorrow and not in a pleasant way,

‘It’s sad Arthur doesn’t have his virtue because Eames wanted it and now he can’t have it.’

‘But sweetheart I thought you didn’t want him to have it? I thought you were leaving to protect him from Eames.’  Harry’s knelt on the bottom step so she can look Franco in the face while she talks him down from apparently being Arthur’s knight in shining armour.

Matt’s moved in closer so he’s standing next to Joe, shoulder to shoulder, he’s still got his phone raised and trained on where Harry is talking to Franco in a hushed voice. The man is sobbing slightly and Joe’s extremely confused.

‘What are you even recording matt, is it for blackmail because I think the hangover and bruises he’s going to have tomorrow will be suffering enough.’  Matt swings around slightly so the camera is now pointed at Joe,

‘Nope I’m making a video to send to Eames, want to say hi?’  Joe feels his eyes widen, just how much these two drank while he and Harry were making Pizza’s.   

‘Hi Eames, I hope you can see what happens when you leave me and Harry in charge of your team.’ What he can see of Matt’s face behind the phone is scowling.

‘Did you say Eames? I want to talk to Eames, tell him he mustn’t steal Arthur’s virtue but also can’t be sad if he gave it away because consent is important.’  Harry’s clearly given up trying to stop the mad man because he’s climbing over where she’s kneeling, her body is shaking slightly from how hard she’s trying not to laugh.

Behind them the couple on television are arguing with Eames about how far their budget will go, Eames, for once, is being realistic. Joe is fairly certain he’s parroting Paul’s words back at the couple because Eames doesn’t have a realistic bone in his body when it comes to designing someone’s dream home.  Franco’s now giving Matt’s camera a highly slurred speech about the importance of attaining proper consent from your sexual partners, ‘because no means no. Always establish safe words if you’re a kinky bastard.’  The coherence he’s achieving is beyond impressive. It feels natural to throw and arm around Harry’s shoulder when she falls against his side, her head on his shoulder. They watch their drunken colleagues fall over each other slightly.

‘Someone should make coffee.’

‘Definitely.’

‘It’s your kitchen buttercup.’

‘Uhh but the coffee is so far.’

‘I’ll go if you promise I won’t be faced with a piece of technology better placed on a spaceship than in a kitchen.’ The groan he gets in response is answer enough.

Harry leaves him to separate and control the two idiots, he manages by some miracle to get them seated on the chairs once more and he even forces another piece of pizza on Franco, who seems to be a very pliant drunk,

‘I like you Joe, even if everyone knows you’re better than me.’

‘I’m not better than you Franco, we’re different people.’

‘No Eames thinks you’re better, you’re his favourite now.’

‘I’m not his favourite Franco, I’m pretty sure that’s Arthur.’

‘No, no, he wants Arthur’s virtue he doesn’t want yours, do you have your virtue Joe?’

‘No I’m pretty sure I gave mine away when I was fifteen.’

‘Fifteen, wow you’re so young, I still have mine.’

‘What?’

‘Yep, I’m still all virtue filled.’ Matt’s dragging his phone out of his pocket again but Joe makes a jump for it because there’s no way in hell he’s going to let Matt record this, he doesn’t even want Franco to say it in case the memory upsets him tomorrow, he’s been beyond private for the entire time Joe’s known him, he doesn’t want him to reveal anything he’ll regret in the cold light of day. Unfortunately Matt isn’t on board with this plan,

‘You’re a virgin Frankie?’ Franco starts nodding rather violently from his place in the arm chair, Joe’s on ready alert to catch him. He can only hope neither of them remembers this conversation come tomorrow.

‘But why?’

‘Why?’

‘Why are you a virgin?’

‘Matt you can’t ask that, it’s not our business.’

‘But it doesn’t make any sense Joey!’ 

‘Look boys the show is back on, let’s watch.’

They’re on the penultimate section where Eames takes the couple on a tour of their completed renovation; having missed the design portion he’s as surprised as the couple seems at the transformation. They walk around open mouthed and Eames conducts his show, he’s a natural performer on these occasions, Joe can see what Eames means when he describes himself as a con artist, there’s definite features which revolve around the list he’d been given but he’s hidden the fact it was completely unreasonable behind a veneer of beauty. The upstairs master bedroom has been completely transformed, it translates through the screen as being wonderfully light and airy, all light creams and yellow blends with almost beach like touches, the couple had mentioned in passing at the very beginning that their holiday together had been to the New England coast and Eames has run with it. The room looks like summer and the clearly the couple love it, but even more telling to Joe is the look on Arthur’s face. He’s obviously moved by the couple’s joy but it’s more than that, the way he’s looking at Eames, the tone of wonder in his voice, his honest praise.  

The size of Eames grin as he takes them to the final room he’s focused on, he doesn’t see how anything can top the romance of the master bedroom but as he leads them into the living room he sees the difference. The master bedroom was a space entirely for the couple, this room, it’s entirely about family and it’s in every choice the design team’s made. He’s completely missed Harry returning to the room but she sinks onto the couch next to him just as Arthur skims his hand over the apothecary table mouthing what looks to be ‘wow’, Eames has had storage installed everywhere but not in an obtrusive way, the idea being that a child’s toys can be placed in the tasteful mahogany pieces and hidden from view while still being accessible. The room is uncluttered and seems to continue the nautical theme to some degree; there are touches everywhere, the striped print of the fabric’s and the drift wood decorations by the fireplace.

‘Did you go with a beach theme for the whole house?’

Harry nods her head slightly, they’re both gripped by Eames description of the pieces that make the room complete and make it family friendly, the mother is thrilled by the adult décor and also the fact all the materials are easily cleaned,

‘Both sets of the couples Grandparents came from Maine, they worked on the sea for generations. The couple had strong links and such positive memories of their time by the coast Eames wanted to work that feeling into the house more.’

‘How did he find that out?’

Harry shrugs, ‘How does he do anything, he’s Eames, he takes his Job so seriously, he’s building these people a dream home, he finds out everything he can and then decides on the key pieces, the positives he thinks they’d most want to reflect on.’

‘I never realised it was so involved.’

‘Of course it is Eames infuses love into every project he creates. It’s a little piece of him but a much bigger reflection of the love of the couple who own the home. Most of the people on here, there’s something they love about where they live. Eames role in this show, it’s to bring that thing back to the front of their perception. He’s working with their minds eye to create their dream.’  

‘You make him sound infallible.’

‘Oh no he’s definitely not, but he’s a damn good designer and he’s got so much patience. He understands his job in this process. He’s got enough ego to believe he can create these couples dreams.’

‘With a little help.’ Harry laughs at this, their fellow viewers have fallen asleep in their armchairs and Joe snaps a picture with Matt’s phone that he sends to Eames with the message;

**They’re following your advice to the letter boss and dreaming bigger- J & H**

On the screen the couple are just coming back from discussing their decision, he already knows the result but the editing choice still amps up some tension. The phone in his hand buzzes and he flips it over to see a response from Eames.

**Glad to see my wisdom is being taken so seriously, tell me they at least fell asleep in an Arthur segment?! Also anyone fancy informing me as to why our dearest Franco seems to think I’m a virtue stealing villain? Most disturbing.**

**Well tbh can’t be certain where it came from but it was born out of at least three strong beers and a clearly strong love with Arthur.**

**Ah, do I have competition?**

The couple reveal they’re going to love the house and everyone on screen and off screen is grinning because the happiness is infectious,

On screen Arthur’s wearing the biggest smile of them all,

_‘Eames I am impressed.’_

_‘Your condescension as always is much appreciated Arthur, thank you.’_ He tempers what could have been a harsh statement with a slight leer and a very dramatic wink.Arthur who before this moment has reacted to such things by looking uncomfortable merely tilts his head back with a breath chuckle, the look he shoots Eames, sideways and in a way he most likely doesn’t think has been caught on camera, is full of both lust and something more, there’s a look in his eyes which is almost mesmerising. Eames in turn is grinning like the Cheshire Cat while the couple pile him with praise, you see Arthur move off camera, clearly to give Eames his piece of the lime light,

‘You know what he did when he walked off camera,’

‘What?’

‘He shot Eames this wink before sauntering off, I swear to god Eames almost melted on the spot.’

Remembering the text waiting for him he quickly types out a reply.

**No, no competition at all – J = TD**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo much respect for EGT because Viewing parties are damn hard to write!


	6. The Walk and Talk

In Eames opinion there are very few occasions when running into your ex lead to anything good; once when he was nineteen, and stupid, he slept with a musician who went by the name Lucifer; the man had grown up somewhere in the bible belt and thought of the stage name as an act of rebellion, his music was terrible, his attitude was worse and at the end of the day the twenty year age gap showed through when they had nothing to talk about after the less than stellar sex. Eames had come to his senses and broken things off two months in, he’d continued his life, design school, painting, sketching, friends and the occasional fling until he’d ran into Lucifer at Walgreens, he’d almost not recognised him dressed in mechanics boiler suit with a name tag reading ‘Hi there, call me Tim’ and a child hanging off his right hand, but he’d have remembered that voice anywhere. The awkward moment of recognition was followed by in Eames opinion the more humiliating introduction to the son, who had regarded him with the innocent eyes of the young and uninterested and the mother/girlfriend who clearly saw straight through her partners sputtered explanation of Eames being the son of a colleagues brother, he’d tried to pull out his most charming smile but the woman’s scowl seemed to only grow worse. He’d beat a speedy exit leaving his Bloody Mary mix and industrial size box of Twinkies in the confused arms of a store clerk and sworn off men for a month. In the dim evening light of reality Eames thinks he would have taken Lucifer and his bullshit over some pompous looking man, apparently named Sebastian, accosting a stunned looking Arthur while they were filming the opening scene of the final episode of ‘Love it or List it’;

‘Well this is the final time to prove yourself Darling, you’re three wins down but I’ll make you a deal. If you win this one we’ll call it a draw. What do you say?’

‘Pride goeth before the fall Mr. Eames; don’t forget I have been victorious with our last two couples. I will take that bet.’

‘Ah but I have something special up my sleeve for this couple, just you wait. I will blow you away.’

‘I look forward to it Mr. Eames, but I hope you don’t underestimate me, I won’t go down without a fight.’

‘Don’t I know it kitten.’

They’ve found a comfortable rhythm over the series, the awkward, stilted interactions of their first meetings long since forgotten and replaced a rather sexually charged friendship, they could talk and joke between scenes, Eames could flirt outrageously without Arthur looking like he wanted to deck him, instead he was met with the most delicious smile, divine dimples included, and if he’s truly lucky he’d catch Arthur checking him out, clearly thinking his glance is covered by those ridiculously long eyelashes, he’s never known a man with eyelashes like his, granted he’s never been so besotted with someone to stare into their eyes for long enough for their eyelash length to register but he’s certain they can’t be natural. He went so far as to ask Harriet during their second episode, she’d just laughed and informed him he was adorable. It wasn’t the answer he’d been looking for but then there’d been some disaster involving antique curtains and one of the crew’s lighters. It was a mark of the insanity of this programme that each work station had its own fire extinguisher, also a moment in Eames’ opinion to note just how quickly Harry moved when she was pissed.

Yusuf continued the ever present request that they keep to the same conversation in each retake, perhaps even following the scripts they’d been provided with; which Eames staunchly refused to do, both because the scripts were truly terrible and because Arthur seemed to find the exacerbated exchanges between Eames and Yusuf hilarious, there wasn’t a lot Eames wouldn’t do to see that smile.

Eames had noticed him biting his lip so hard to stop himself from laughing on the last episode he’d been genuinely concerned the man would make himself bleed. Of course he’d heroically offered to kiss the indents better during set up which had earned him a reprimand from Dom; some nonsense about inappropriate work place behaviour and a rather flirtatious smirk from Arthur complete with a whispered comment during the next shots set up; ‘I think you’ll have to try much harder than that Mr. Eames’. He maintained that if Arthur had accompanied the comment with a wink he would have been likely to melt on the spot.

They’d been in the park for an hour already, Dom making them run test shots in different parts of the area, Eames favourite of the day was the suggestion he and Arthur sit on the swing set while talking, it should have surprised no one when Arthur refused to play along and instead watched Eames make a minor prat of himself trying to jump off the swing midway through the air, turns out it’s more difficult in your thirties that it was in your teens. They’d finally forced Dom into a walk and talk shot because they both enjoyed those, not to mention Arthur seeming inability to stay warm, walking helped, it was during set up that Eames had noticed to colour drain from Arthur’s face and a rather glassy look of panic take over his features,

‘Arthur, you alright?’ 

‘Shit.’

‘Alright well I’ll take that as your answer and move on too, what’s wrong?’

‘Shit.’

‘No, you see I’m going to need more than that this time Darling, what’s wrong?’ He followed Arthur’s gaze to its focus. The man who seemed to have caught his eye was tall; undoubtedly taller than Arthur, blonde; in a died peroxide way, dressed to the nines; his suit looked to rival Arthur’s in class and was also wearing an expression somewhere between a glare and a leer, the man was clearly a creep even from a distance and Eames had the strong urge to punch his smug, perfectly groomed, face. He checked the rather violent impulse and instead he turned his attention back to the still paling visage of his co-star.

‘Arthur, Darling, I really need you to snap out of this. You’re worrying me. The crew’s nearly ready.’ They’d been somewhat lucky that neither Yusuf nor Dom seemed to be paying them any mind, the shot was more complicated in the fading light, as Dom was responsible for scheduling this now made him the key focus of Yusuf’s weekly ,‘The inconvenient truths about filming outdoors’ speech.  It could be summed up as natural lighting was a demon in Yusuf’s opinion and he hated the fact it messed with his continuity.

‘Look, I need to deal with this, just for a minute. I’ll be back, alright.’  With that Arthur had stuck his hands deep within his overcoats pockets and marched over to the man, leaving Eames both confused and more than a little jealous when the man had reached out to touch Arthur’s shoulder. He wanted to drag Arthur back and tell him it wasn’t alright, it would never be alright, no one else was allowed to touch him, he wasn’t even allowed to touch him, so some peroxide blonde bastard certainly wasn’t. It didn’t help that when said bastard caught him staring he shot a smirk at him which turned Eames’ stomach. The violent urge to punch his sorry face was returning with a vengeance.

‘Eames, it looks like Yusuf’s going to need ten minutes to figure out the right lighting and placement. Dom says that if you need a break now is the time to take it because if not, and I’m quoting here, those fucking peacocks are going to stay here until it’s done, end quote, and if you now want to murder Dom I’d wait until Yusuf has finished his rant else the man will clobber you with his camera.’

‘I’m not a peacock; I mean Arthur, yes maybe but me!’ Joe just shrugs in response, they both end up staring at Arthur and his companion for a few minutes before his patience snaps, ‘I mean it’s just unprofessional, it’s clearly something personal, he shouldn’t be dealing with personal issues while we’re filming.’ 

‘You mean Arthur, it’s not like him I’d grant you but I mean you’ve got to assume it’s important for him to step away like that. Do you know who the guy is?’ 

‘No. Clearly someone who wants to get in his panties though.’

‘Two things, one I don’t think he wears panties, you’d be able to see the outline through those ridiculously tight trousers,’ Eames opens his mouth to reprimand the man for ogling Arthur’s anything, only Eames, and apparently the internet if Harriet’s social media report is to be believed, is allowed to appreciate the perky aesthetic of those trousers and that backside, but Joe just raises a hand to cut him off and steam rollers onto his second point, ‘and from the body language, both his and Arthur’s I would place a bet one someone who’s already gotten into whatever type of underwear Arthur chooses to wear under his suits.’

‘What, why?’

‘Well, look at Arthur’s defensive stance, the arm placement and the distance between them that he is clearly forcing, not to mention the set of his jaw. It all screams defence and then look at the other man’s, his body is open, he keeps reaching out to touch Arthur anywhere he thinks is allowed, his hand briefly, his shoulder, he keeps raising his hand as if to touch more but I’m assuming Arthur’s behaviour is stopping him.  So yes, I’m going with ex-boyfriend or I guess fling and looks like either Arthur broke it off or the other bloke, who actually looks a little creepy the more you look at him,  broke it off but regrets it, maybe he saw him on television or one of those gossip sites Harry’s obsessed with who knows.’

Eames stands by the wizard, therapist, physic labels he’s awarded Joe, but that doesn’t get them any closer to physically removing the creep from Arthur’s vicinity. Knowing Arthur, even a little bit, leads Eames to believe him charging in on some form of white horse would likely be met with hostility from Arthur rather than some preferable form of romantic swooning.

Ok so something with subtlety, not one of his strong suits, granted, but he can try. The man seems to be guiding Arthur towards a tree, every time he takes a step forwards, Arthur takes one back and they’re going to end up hitting that tree with Arthur being trapped, now logically he knows they’re in public and surrounded by people, this man knows he has an audience, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him from advancing on Arthur.

‘Do something Joe.’

‘What why?’

‘Because Arthur is about to get trapped by that bloke and I can’t go in and stop it because then I will look like a jealous dickhead rather than someone concerned for his mental wellbeing.’

‘Are you sure you’re not just being a jealous dick?’

‘Just look at his fucking face Joe, you were reading him a minute ago, tell me his actions don’t scream of someone being intimidated.’

‘I dunno, maybe they’re flirting.’  But the look on Arthur’s face becomes properly discernible then and before Eames can point out the changes Joe’s started moving towards them. The man might not be as built as Eames but he cuts an imposing figure all the same, a little over six foot, defined muscles, his tattoos, noticeable on his neck and forearms, yeah Joe could pull off threatening if he needed to.

***

Joe’s not one to allow a friends jealous ramblings to manipulate his behaviour so he was careful to wait until it became clear the bloke’s advances, whatever they were, weren’t being welcomed by Arthur. He thinks if Eames hadn’t made such a production out of it he might have moved a little sooner. But Arthur’s in no way unable to defend himself and Joe thinks its possible Eames forgets that sometimes. He’s witnessed the condescension of both sides of their relationship but they both seem to take it in stride now more than anything, occasionally snide comments are exchanged but it’s almost as if it’s become part of their dance, part of their weirdly intense sexually charged dance, they have the ability to make a whole room of people feel the need to fan themselves with the excess heat on occasion.

So yes Joe had waited before trying to help Arthur, he trusted the man would have indicated aid was needed if he’d been in any form of distress but there’d been a touch of panic to his face just then and Joe wasn’t about to allow his friend to be intimidated.

‘Arthur, mate, Yusuf and Dom are about wrapped up and they’re going to need you back.’ He keeps his tone friendly and his facial expression arranged in a light smile, no intimidation except a flex of his muscles.

‘Yeah, sounds good, I’ll head on over, thanks Joe.’ There’s an awkward moment where no one really speaks, Joe’s watching Arthur straighten his tie, and with it his face, while he can feel the other man staring daggers at him. ‘Sebastian, I’m still not sure why you felt the need to turn up here. Nothing’s changed.’ Arthur’s composed himself now but there’s a glint in his eyes that Joe’s never seen before, it makes the normally reserved man look a little dangerous, ‘You are clearly exactly the same person I’ve always known and I gave up long ago thinking that was ever going to change that, for me or anyone. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have work to do. We’re done here.’  Arthur strides back to where Eames and now Dom are waiting for him, the latter looks pissed as all hell but it’s only to be expected after one of Yusuf’s tangent filled ramblings.

 Joe makes to follow him but the sneering man, Sebastian, grabs his wrist;

‘You think I don’t know what’s happening here. I watched the programme. Who are you then? Eames’ body man’ Joe shakes his wrist free; he’s dealt with plenty worse than a mates jilted ex.

‘I’m Arthur’s colleague and friend, no matter who else I am, I am those things, you think you can come here, to a place where he is working and get him alone, intimidate him, probably get him back. It’s not going to happen. He’s just told you he’s not interested, get the message mate. Now it’s been made abundantly clear to you that you’re not welcome here, we’re working and you’re interfering, please leave the area.’

‘Why should I? Are you going to make me?’

‘No, legally I’m not allowed to and I also just wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, you’re clearly here to pick a fight and I have no interest in providing you with one, so, do whatever you want mate but if you interfere with filming, well on your head be it, the next person that gets sent over to deal with your pathetic ass will likely be Dom and I wouldn’t put it past him to deck you, just for the hell of it.’  He feels a great deal of satisfaction in walking away, perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to bite the man but really he’s learnt in his life and in his travels which battles to fight and which to walk away from and sometimes you have to get a little snarky with bastards like that. Arthur’s not in any danger, none of the team is. Well he thinks, he might be wrong about that because he can hear a man’s heavy footfalls and if Joe’s not mistaken he’s about to throw a punch. Some men are beyond predictable, he’s been punched a number of times in his life, this wouldn’t even be the first time it happened because he stuck up for a friend, he needs to have a chat with Arthur about his taste in men he thinks as he swings around the block the punch with his palm, he keeps a tight grip on it as the man continues to move with the momentum of his throw and pulls his arm behind his back.

‘Alright mate, we’ve reached the end of my tolerance level, so here’s the deal, walk to fuck away, don’t contact Arthur, don’t go anywhere near him, do you understand? Don’t come near any of our sets or any of our people because the next time I see your face, or the next time I hear you’ve been fucking sniffing around, I will put you in hospital. Do you understand?’  He twists Sebastian’s arm tightly, applying a measured amount of force to the wrist and elbow, it won’t break but it will hurt like hell for the next few days.

‘Joe is everything alright?’ Its Dom calling but Joe can tell he’s not close enough to see what’s happening, from how closely their bodies have been forced together there would be little see even if he was stood right behind him, which he isn’t. He offers Dom thumbs up with his free hand while twisting his hand ever so slightly towards Sebastian’s body, the man squawks in protest.

‘I said; do you understand?’

‘Yes.’  The man spits the word out, his face has gone an unfortunate shade of red and as Joe pushes him forwards, away from him, Sebastian shoots him a death glare. He’d once been cursed with the evil eye by a woman in Istanbul, he might have slept with her granddaughter, who was in her late twenties, but it went without saying that he’d feared for his life more in those moments of shouting, slipper throwing and running for his life like a bat out of hell than he did from a bully like Sebastian. He watched the man stumble away from him clutching the now, likely, bruised arm.

Shooting went cleanly for the rest of the day, both Arthur and Eames seemed eager to get out of the park and finish their show duties for the day. Eames even consented to a somewhat scripted exchange, throwing in his usual endearments and Arthur returning with his eye rolls, short tempered retorts and carrying that general air of exacerbation he seemed to only wear on camera. The shot was over in five takes but they whipped Eames off to do some consulting with the construction team already looking over the house. He’d pulled Joe to the side and demanded a rundown of the exchange he’d had with Sebastian, Joe refused to tell him which seemed to infuriate Eames almost as much as the time Paul had staunchly refused to remove a large section of the roof and replace it with a glass structure. The argument had revolved around material, cost and eventually the laws of physics;

‘Eames it won’t bloody work, even if you had millions of dollars and the fucking space programme involved, which you bloody don’t can I just remind you, there is no way that fucking design will fit into that space and stay up, you will kill the clients, not just a harmless maiming, you would bloody kill them.’

‘But why!? I don’t see why!’

‘Because of the shit tone of glass and fucking physics Eames!’

‘Well maybe I hate fucking physics then!’  

Fair to say what had followed was an design sulk of epic proportions, it had taken an hour to find Eames, he’d gotten onto the roof in order to prove the design would fit, half an hour to convince him to come down, a further half an hour to discover he couldn’t get down the way he’d come without breaking his neck and ten minutes and a sizable bribe to get the cherry picker down the street to come past and bring him down. Dom had looked so close to a stroke Joe had Matt escort him off premise, Yusuf calmly taking him to follow Arthur as he researched listings and made spreadsheets. Spreadsheets were soothing for people like Dom, he liked the order and the systematic approach opposed to the whirlwind of insanity which seemed to follow Eames’ projects.

Joe was left with Arthur and some of the unneeded staff,

‘Hi, Joe, I wanted to say thank you.’ Joe understood the formality; Arthur didn’t strike him as the sort of person who enjoyed the feeling of owing someone a favour.

‘No thanks needed Arthur, that bloke was a dick.’

‘Yes, well, still thank you, I appreciate what you did.’

‘Well once again no problem mate, what are friends for.’ Arthur shot him one of his half awkward smiles and started to walk in the opposite direction to Joe, he’d gotten as far his car before he felt the hand on his shoulder. He spun half expecting to see a pissed off peroxide blonde determined on revenge only to come face to face with a slightly pale Arthur, he was out of breath and looked to be panicking over something. Joe straightened to properly observe the area, darkness was quickly falling and the park wasn’t well lit, he couldn’t see more than half way to where they’d filmed the walk and talk.

‘Arthur, are you alright?’ he watched the man pull himself up, a slight pink tinge colouring his cheeks as he took a step further away from Joe now he had his attention.

‘Why did you do it?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Why did you come over? What made you do that?’

‘I don’t understand, didn’t you want someone to.’

‘No, no it isn’t that, I’m grateful, although it wasn’t necessary, but no that’s not it. It’s just, did anyone suggest it? That you come over?’

‘You mean Eames?’ The colour spreads more thoroughly over Arthur’s face; he goes from a dull pink to something more akin to rose.

‘Well, no, not specifically just anyone.’

‘Well then, I suppose the decision to come over was suggested by someone else, emphasis there on someone, but I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think you were upset by what was happening. There was always the chance the whole tree thing was something nicer.’

‘Nicer?’

‘Well yeah, do you really want me to elaborate or can I just say something like insert an Eames joke here and we can leave that topic behind.’ Arthur raises his hands in mock surrender, but he’s grinning. Joe shoots the park one more look before making his mind up,

‘Hey, how were you planning on getting home?’

‘Hum, oh well I was going to get a taxi from somewhere. I normally catch a lift with Dom if I can stomach it, we don’t live too far apart and he’s alright company if you don’t mind listening to long stories about his overly dramatic love life.’ They share a laugh, both leaning against the side of Joe’s truck, sharing quick stories about the show’s main producer; Joe’s known him off and on for a few years but hadn’t grown to appreciate the many annoying facets of his character until they’d worked on a project where Dom was in charge. He took leadership more seriously than anyone would have expected if they’d known him in the drinking so much he ended up face down in a gutter time period Joe had first met him in. ‘Come on I’ll give you a lift, I don’t much like the idea of you trying to get to the taxi rank on the other side of the park.’

The man puts up less of a fight than Joe had envisioned, he’d seen Arthur pick fights over the pettiest of things on camera and yet in reality he seemed relatively easy going, he was happy to bob his head to whichever music was on the radio in comparison to Eames who changed station every  five minutes and he kept his belongings very neatly as his feet, unlike Harry who’d developed a habit of spreading her designs over the back seat and refusing to leave the truck until she’d finished organising the final aspects of her current restoration project, they’d chat on and off for hours while she finished off whatever manic design Eames had asked her for,

‘Someone needs to tell hat man that reupholstering a chesterfield sofa in eight hours is not a reasonable time frame.’

‘I’m pretty sure you’re the only person he would listen to about that.’

‘He never listens to me about time frames.’

‘Then we’re all buggered aren’t we love.’ They’d lose themselves in laughter until they were breathless then, Harry always invited him in for coffee and he always refused, but she didn’t stop asking and he secretly hoped she wouldn’t stop for the duration of their working relationship, which in reality was only another four weeks, this will be their final project and he’s set to leave after the recording’s finished, he’s not really discussed it with anyone other than his mother but he hasn’t hidden it either.

‘What is it that you do exactly Joe? For Eames or Dom I guess.’

 Joe has to consider this, mostly because he’s not really sure. Someone comes to him, they have a problem and he fixes it, granted this is mostly Eames or Eames related certainly, Paul occasionally pops up asking him about global building techniques, Matt likes to turn up when he’s broken something and have Joe sit for hours and fix the blasted object, Harriet, well she’s more complicated, both more demanding and less, she’ll drag him around second hand furniture stores for hours checking for bargains that would fit with Eames design master plans but she also works in solitary; most of the hours on site she spends with her I-pod blasting The Kinks and focusing on her projects.  Her work fascinates Joe because it’s all so intricate, in the same way he’s seen Eames blow a gasket over gravity and specific shape of windows, he’s seen Harry equally distressed over the shade of leather Matt’s brought her to work with, he’ll provide one in a Burnt Umber when she specifically needed Sienna brown, this is the moment someone fetches Joe, who In turn normally fetches Eames and they each take one of the designers for a breather. Franco’s just a drama queen, but he refuses to ask anyone other than Eames a question, no matter how small and really, overall, he just pisses everyone off.  He’s been considering his answering for well over five minutes but Arthur seems content to wait, he casts Joe a smile when he takes a moment to explain he’s trying to think of how best to summarise it.

‘I guess I try and fix problems, so for Dom his problem was getting Eames somewhere and keeping him there, the man has been known to be a flight risk, so I collect him, drive him around and make sure in general he’s where he needs to be at the right time. For Eames, he needs someone to drag his ass back down to earth,’ they share another mutual laugh here, ‘the man is a genius but like most who share the title he’s sporadic and has a tendency to dream too much.  I try to make sure that by the end of day one Paul at least has a vague plan to work off, where to focus his energy. For Paul, well I guess I do that, I translate Eames into something workable,’ more laughter from Arthur, ‘for the team, well for Matt I think it’s like having a best mate around, he gets himself into some sort of drama and I help him get out of it. I don’t know how to explain Harriet though; I don’t think I do that much to help her really. I give her a lift when she needs one, I like that, but then again I enjoy driving so.’ 

‘You’re a good guy Joe.’

‘I’m really not but thanks.’

‘Of course you are, you just described dedicating your work life to your friends and keeping your patience throughout. You’re a great guy, and a good friend.’

‘Thanks Arthur, that, that means a lot to me.’

‘You must get lonely, travelling like you do.’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Then why do it? You clearly thrive with people, why leave.’

‘Mostly because it’s what I do, it’s what I’ve always done. I don’t set up roots in places.’ They slip back into silence again, they’re pulling into Arthur’s neighbourhood, Joe’s only been here a handful of times, normally to drop something off for the real estate agent from Dom or Eames, he could likely add delivery driver to his list of responsibilities.  It’s not till they’re in front of Arthur’s building that the other man speaks again.

‘I don’t think it’s true that you don’t have roots in places, you’ll always have roots here, you have friends now, people who love and care about you. Those are roots Joe, you can go to the other side of the planet, you could go anywhere but we’d still be here. I think you know that, maybe it scares you, I don’t know, but it shouldn’t. Love is wonderful Joe and your life could be so full of it if you’d let it.’

Joe snorts, ‘You’re one to talk.’ He regrets it immediately and the flash of pain which shows in Arthur’s eyes lets him know just how close to home he’s hit.

‘You’re probably right, I’m defensive about love. I have my mum and she’s great, but I pick shitty men. Sebastian for example, you’re right he’s a complete dick but I dated him for six months. He cheated on me five times, can you believe that, five different people, but I stayed because I thought I was in love. I learnt something from that, not everyone deserves for me to love them. I don’t know if I truly loved him but I know I tried to. I don’t want to make that mistake again, I don’t think I am either, he, I, it’s different now.’

‘Yeah, I don’t think you’re making a mistake either, for what it’s worth.’  

‘It’s worth a lot Joe, you’re my friend and you stuck up for me today. There are not a lot of people who have done that over my life and I appreciate it. But in the same vein, I’m going to tell you this. I think you are making a mistake, don’t leave. Don’t leave Boston, don’t leave us just because you’re getting comfortable and maybe even happy. Don’t just throw it away because you’re scared.’

‘Look, Arthur…’

‘No, just, think about what I’ve said ok.’ He steps out of the truck and pulls his belongings after him, ‘I’ll take a risk if you will.’ Arthur winks as he closes the door with a thud, Joe feels it reverberate through his body, just as Arthur’s words were reverberating through his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember ladies and gents, Violence is never the answer ;-)


	7. Everybody follow Eames

The final property of ‘Love it or List it’ season one was a nightmare. It was in the middle of nowhere and only accessible by a single lane dirt track which was too narrow for anything bigger than the camera van to drive up. They’d encountered serious issues with unloading supplies and machinery throughout the building time. It had gotten so bad that the usually stoic Paul had lost his temper. Eames’ design team had been forced to move their dressing pieces to a different property as both the weather and dirt track conspired against them to make working on the grounds of the one story whitewashed building impossible.

Eames had made a frantic call to Arthur who’d provided them with the keys to an out of town warehouse, complete with abandoned lawn furniture and doors which opened wide enough to allow some semblance of natural light into the space. Joe had run between the warehouse and work site for the duration of the build, toting both people and equipment to those who needed it. Harriet had taken it upon herself to ensure he stopped long enough for lunch each day but apart from that it had been almost continuous driving; Joe had never found himself resenting the experience before. After all he had spent near enough a decade with driving providing the majority of his income, but he’d become used to the constant company working on these project provided. It felt odd to be alone with his thoughts once again.

The project had finished on time but only just. Paul and Eames had kept their respective teams working through the final night to finish the place off with their usual level of finesse. It hadn’t been enough however. On the day the couple were due to deliver their verdict, a storm hit New England. It had been bad enough to take out the electricity for most of the next day. They’d soldiered on regardless but the couple hadn’t been convinced. The crew watched the couple wander through the open plan living space downstairs, complete with floor to ceiling windows and French doors which opened onto the refurbished deck and the incredible view their isolated plot provided. The couple, the Bradshaw’s, complained at every turn.

_“Oh my, it’s so bright now.”_

_“Yes I quite agree far too bright.”_

_“I mean it’s hardly cozy is it?”_

_“Did you choose this blue deliberately?”_

Joe almost failed in holding Harriet back when the woman on screen had complained about the dark stain Harry had chosen for the dining table. He’d wrapped his arms around her waist and forcibly dragged her away from the screen.

“It’s not fair Joe. She asked for a dark stained table, she bloody well asked for it. It’s on her wish list.”

Joe had done his best to soothe her, but had felt completely out of his depth when she’d turned into his chest and embraced him. Patting her on the head was the most foolish reaction he could have had but all the same it had made her laugh and force back the tears. He would agree that the couple was insulting but all failed to understand the design teams reactions. Harriet’s wasn’t even the most extreme; Joe had seen Matt dragging Franco towards the assembled trucks to have a cool down when the woman insisted she’d told them she hated neutral tones in a bedroom. Franco had been gesticulating wildly and the distinct tones of Spanish swear words carrying over the assembled group.

It came as no surprise when the couple declared they were going to list the property. They’d all expected Eames to be furious but the man exited the house in excellent spirits they conducted the final wrap up interviews with Eames sitting on the bonnet of Joe’s truck and Arthur leaning against the front grill sheepishly, likely his coat alone cost more than Eames entire outfit. The pair had bantered, Eames conceding the point and bringing up the bet they’d made while walking through the park at the start of this design project. Arthur reached out his hand and declared the season a draw. The final line of filming belonged to Eames:

“I’ll just have to try harder next time darling.”

Arthur rolled his eyes in response but grinned as if he adored Eames banter. It was looks like that; Joe thought that inflated the man’s ego to such a degree.

“And that’s a wrap on season one guys,” Dom shouted from off camera.

There was a general cheer and the customary round of hugs. Arthur continued to wear an expression of shock every time someone embraced him.

“Don’t forget everyone there’s a wrap party at the Hilton in Boston central this evening, no open bar but the network has agreed to supply some wine.”  Dom called.

“Which will be awful,” Arthur murmured from his position between Joe and Eames, the later attempted to pass off the resulting snort of amusement as a coughing fit. Yusuf had gallantly slapped him on the back until Eames ceased the charade.  There had been a round of cursory handshakes between Dom and those he had clearly viewed to be central members of the team before they descended on the gathered vehicles and started to return to Boston. 

Fitting Eames, Arthur, Harriet and himself into the truck’s cab had proved challenging but after Arthur offered, while blushing heavily, to occupy the back seat with Eames; they managed to make it work. Arthur had spent the entire journey railing against the final couple of the series; apparently they’d been difficult through the entire viewing process as well, the husband having stormed out of the properties at least twice.

“How could they turn down your house Eames, it’s insane. You made it so beautiful, you all did. I just can’t believe they would choose to list that property now, after everything you did. It was fixed, it had to be.” Arthur continued to gesticulate so wildly that Eames was forced to tuck himself as close to the window as possible.

“Darling you should be basking in your victory not spouting the virtues of my designs. You won pet, enjoy it.” Eames clasped the closest of Arthur’s hands in his own, the designer leaning so close to the other man’s face Arthur would only have needed to move a few inches for their lips to touch. Joe cast a quick glance to where Harriet was curled into the front seat. She’d rested her head on the glass of the window but the wink she shot him when she noticed his glance reassured him he wasn’t hallucinating the conversation happening in the back seat. The two men had turned full to face each other now, Eames still maintaining his hold on Arthur’s hand while the real estate agent continued his tirade against the injustices of their programme.

If either of them caught on to the presence of an audience or the fact neither of the other individuals within the car had made a comment for the duration of their journey, they failed to acknowledge it.

“Perhaps I should have you make it up to me darling, hmm? If I have truly been treated as unjustly as you state I think reparations should be arranged.”

Arthur wet his lips at Eames words.

 Joe noticed Harriet shift in her seat her legs uncurling slightly as she craned her head to get a better view in the rear-view mirror. Arthur’s voice, when it reappeared, was deeper and quieter than it had been previously.  “What did you have in mind Mr. Eames?” The look Eames cast him could only be described as a leer.

“Now now darling that would be telling. But I think we should start with a drink.”

“A drink? With you?”

“Oh I think so poppet, tonight, first round is on you.”

“Tonight?”

“Quite. Wear something fabulous darling,” Eames said. Joe pulled into a space in front of Eames’ building.

“Fabulous?”

“Definitely, not that you’re not always delectable pet.” Eames flung open his door leaving a highly dazed Arthur alone in the back seat. Eames turned half way up the stairs to his building motioning for Joe to roll down his window, which he did. “Treat him gently children, I would quite like him in one piece.”  Harriet merely laughed and flipped him off in response but Arthur’s blush steadily worsens throughout their journey to his home. The man was lucky to make it up the three stairs to his buildings front door after tripping over the bottom step in his haste to escape the awkward atmosphere Eames departure had caused.

Both he and Harriet broke down into a seemingly unending stream of giggles once Arthur was out of earshot. Harriet found her voice once the laughter subsides slightly, she’s still gasped for air however.

“Oh god, that poor man.” She gestured behind them to the seat Arthur had occupied throughout the journey; Joe barely managed to nod in response. He’d never been stuck in such a small area with two people who exuded such sexual chemistry before; the two men might as well have been ripping each other’s clothes off for the atmosphere they created through a mere conversation. “Poor Arthur, that was ridiculous.” Harriet stated.

“I don’t think we should be saying poor Arthur in this situation. He’s just as involved. He’s just less obvious with it than Eames.”

“You think so?” She turned in her seat to look at his profile fully, he’d noticed that she seemed to prefer this position when they were talking, she had done it at other occasions as well, Harry always ensured she could have eye contact with the person she was talking to if it was face to face. He’d never complain; her eyes held an intriguing blend of blue and green pigments, he’d spent far longer than he’d admit sneaking glances at them. 

“Yeah, he’s just as into Eames. I spoke to him a few weeks ago; he’s a smitten kitten I swear.” Joe said.

“Ha, smitten kitten totally stealing that.” they both grinned in a slightly deranged way, the entire day had been filled with a ridiculous blend of emotions. Harry had spent the first hour on sight shivering because she’d forgotten how open to the elements the property was and had worn a one shouldered knee length dress, the skirt of which had flapped unrelentingly for most of the afternoon leaving Joe with the perfect sight of the woman’s beautifully curved thighs. Joe had convinced her after that initial hour that accepting his jacket would both protect her from the elements and from showing her underwear to an audience she hadn’t anticipated. She’d muttered for a few minutes about having very nice underwear but had accepted the jacket with a small smile.

“Stealing it for what?” Harry merely shook her head in response, “No come on, what will you use it for?” she ran a finger across her lips miming zipping them; the movement distracted Joe enough that he left the questioning for the final ten minutes of their journey. 

Harry collected her bag and folder from the back seat where she’d thrown them after Eames had climbed out. The position left her holding onto the back of Joe’s seat and half bent forwards. If he were a less polite man he would have had a perfect view of the woman’s chest or wonderfully curved waist. “Joey have you seen my phone, I was sure I threw it back here.” the further she climbed into the back the more her legs ended up being exposed to Joe’s view; already the hem of her dress had ridden up to the middle of her thighs. Joe swallowed in the hopes of maintaining as much of his dignity as possible. He was perfectly able to control himself, even if his only thought was reaching out to run his fingers over the exposed skin.

“No Harry I can’t say I have. Did it maybe drop under a seat?”

“I hope not. Check the glove box for me will you?” Moving to reach said glove box put his face straight over her oddly bent knees. The soft scent of coco butter filled his senses as his nose brushed near the surface of her legs. God he could be such a creep sometimes. Focusing on his task, he was about to open to glove box when he spotted the phone in the passenger foot well.  

Joe picked it up before telling her, “Harry it’s here. I have it. You must have dropped it.”

“Oh good ok, I’m coming back over then.”  Harry said.

She shimmied her hips back through the gap as she spoke. Joe moved his body out of the way as quickly as possible. Their sides still ended up brushing lightly in the small space.  “Thanks.” Harry said as she held her hand out for the gadget without looking at him; her hair had been mussed by the back seat dive session and as she was currently rummaging through her bag, most likely looking for the townhouses’ door keys. Joe allowed himself a moment to look over her features. They were small; he’d often referred to them as Elvin in his mind. She kept her warm brunette curls cropped close to her face and pinned the back more often than not. 

“No.”  Joe said. Harry looked up now, clearly confused by his denial.

“What? Why not?” There was a lilt of amusement in

“I want you tell me what the kitten comment was about.” Joe said.

“Are you serious? Give me my phone Joe.” She reached across the centre console and made a grab for the phone; Joe held it to his left far out of her reach. She would have to climb over him to reach it. “Oh my god Joe, how old are you five? Give me the phone.”

“No, just tell me Harry and I’ll give it back.” Joe promised.

“No, why the hell should I?” Harry said as she moved to kneel on the seat attempting once again to reach his hand, pressed up against the window as it is. “Oh come on, why do you even want to know?”

“Because you won’t tell me mostly,” Joe said. She shoots his admission a disgusted look, “but also because I don’t see a reason for you not to.”

“Look you’ll just make fun of me and I’d prefer to avoid that so just give me the phone before I bite you.”

“You won’t bite me. Why would I make fun of you?”

“For god sake, because you’d think it was stupid and ridiculous and you’d laugh.”

“No I wouldn’t, I would never laugh at you.”

“Of course you would, give me the phone.” If someone were to look through the windows in this moment they’d likely look to be mid embrace pushed together as they are. Joe can feel her chest rising and falling from its position against his own, her face mere millimetres from his own, her lips a whispers length away. 

“Tell me I promise I won’t laugh, tell me Harry.” They stare at each other, neither moving away from the other, their breaths mingled between them. Harriet’s hand gripped his shoulder which she had been using for leverage during the aborted phone recovery. “Please tell me.”

“I write fan fiction.” She breathes it out against his lips before pushing away from him, the spell broken, falling lightly on her heels in the passenger seat.

“I, what, fan fiction?” Joe holds off shaking his head to rearrange his thoughts. It’s never worked as it seems to in books and he’d rather avoid the headache.

“Eloquent,  Joe. Yes, fan fiction. I write it.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t that. “What about?” Harry shrugs in the seat opposite before sighing at his raised eyebrow.

“I mostly write Star Trek fic’s but I read plenty of others. I enjoy it as a creative output and there is nothing wrong with it.” Harry raised her voice at the end, everything about her posture was rigid.

“Harriet, of course there is nothing wrong with it. Why on earth would you think I would laugh at you?”

“ What?” Harry asked, confused by Joe’s unexpected acceptance.

“I’m asking why you think I would laugh at you?” He moved to press the phone back into her hand. “I can’t think of a single thing wrong with you loving to write.”

“But, well, people don’t think it’s real writing. There are a lot of people who would think it was funny.”

“Well then they’re idiots. You’re amazing Harriet I can’t imagine your writing is anything other than sublime.”  He tried for a gentle smile, the atmosphere is returning to something less frigid and more normal for a conversation between the two of them.

Harry, who was clearly still uncomfortable moved to sit facing the windscreen once more, “Why do you say things like that?” 

“Like what? That you’re amazing.”

“Yes, why do you say that? You say it all the time, why?”

“Because it’s true. I watch you work all the time.” He makes a mental note of how creepy that sounded, “You’ve got a wonderfully creative mind Harry.”

“You don’t know what you do to people when you say things like that.”

“What do you mean?” He turned his upper body towards her again meeting her eyes with a confused smile.

“Maybe I should learn by example.” There was no obvious emotion on her face while her eyes darted over his features.

“What?”

“Follow Eames’ example.”  She moved to reach across the centre console again, her hands gripped the lapels of his leather jacket and as she pulled his lips against her own. The kiss lasted at most for thirty seconds. It was chaste and quick, not long enough for Joe to get over his shock and kiss her back properly. He would kick himself for that later no doubt, but as she drew away her eyes casting down towards the floor, collecting her bag and moving to leave, he grabbed her arm more tightly than he had intended.  He shuffled forwards slightly and kissed the side of her mouth. It was awkward with their relative positions but he didn’t trust his words yet.

“You’re collecting me later right?”

Joe nods quickly in response to her question. “Okay, you’ll probably have figured out how you feel by then right?” Joe feels a giggle forming in his throat but he would state he was ninety nine percent positive it would be born of nerves. She had fucking kissed him, with no warning, bloody hell. Harry stayed in her seat half looking at him.

“Yeah, I’ll be here at eight.” Joe watches her climb out of the car and tracks her hips as they sway with the bounce of her taking the stairs at speed. She’s by far the most beautiful woman he had ever met. She made him laugh everyday and if he was to be honest with himself in that moment he knew he adored her. He wanted nothing more than to run up those stairs, push her against her front door, and kiss her until they forgot their social obligations, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t because he was a coward; he had always been a coward. He had never been good with emotions or involving someone else in his life. He was good at running, it was his life. He stayed somewhere but didn’t get attached ant then he moved on but he was screwed now. Joe knew that. He was thoroughly attached and too god damn involved for his own sanity.

He had wanted their first kiss, if they ever shared one, to be something passionate and fiery, something leading on to something defined. He’d had flings all over the world, wild nights filled with passion and sex. He’d drowned his feelings for others in this way as well, burning himself out within the relationship quickly and then moving on. But this kiss- it was small and shy, it felt almost precious and he’d been shocked. Shocked because he would have never expected it, never expected her soft lips to bracket his bottom one as she pulled away, leaving a second smaller, just as chaste kiss in the wake of the first.  It was a kiss that could lead anywhere, its destination undefined. Joe had never been more intimidated by something as simple as a kiss before but this seemed to be a damn good time to start.


	8. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God the timing for this chapter is bad. This is angst heavy guys, we all knew it was coming but still. 
> 
> Eames in a bad head space up ahead.

When Eames was fourteen he kissed a boy for the first time. The boys name was Thomas and he had shared three of Eames’ classes and a predilection for skipping off physics on a Wednesday afternoon. The kiss itself had been a small press of lips, innocent and chaste followed by an awkward ten minutes of staring and finally the agreement that kissing shouldn’t be part of their friendship. He had run into Thomas the previous summer while visiting his parents and was happy to see the man set up with a young family of his own. He had asked Thomas when he had known his partner Matthew was the one for him and been surprised to hear it had been almost instantaneous. Eames had never known a love like that. Not until he met Arthur.

Arthur had tormented his dreams for months, the sexual tension that made their on screen relationship sing spilling over into their real world interactions and conversations. Eames had developed a Pavlovian response to the man’s dimples and a rather concerning heart palpitation when Arthur rolled his eyes. He had fallen fast and he had fallen hard. Falling in love with Arthur had proven to be something akin to drowning for Eames, he had been unable to stop the experience and struggled initially; no matter the jokes his team made Eames was realistic to know that falling in love with his co-star was unlikely to lead to the start of a fairy tale. Then came the moment he saw something akin to his feelings reflected back to him through Arthur’s eyes. It had been during their second shoot on reveal day the man had wandered through the bespoke kitchen stroking the counters before looking up to send a dazzling smile at Eames, Eames had been more willing to accept the drowning feeling when he thought he might not be alone in it and so he stopped struggling. They still exchanged biting comments and Eames still flirted outrageously but he thought they had come to an understanding, Eames thought, believing that he had accepted the reality of being in love with Arthur. He believed this whole heartedly until the morning he woke up with Arthur laying next to him and had a panic attack.

He scrambled out of bed, losing his footing slightly to his hangover, and found himself vomiting uncontrollably in the bathroom. He fought his own brain for a logical reason, an explanation for his reaction but all he could think about was Arthur laying outside the door peacefully asleep and unaware of the life altering freak out session Eames was having. He had accepted his feelings, he had seen them returned, they had danced and touched and kissed and Eames had let the tide of his feelings for Arthur drag him into last night. It hadn’t felt like drowning when they kissed, it had felt like taking that first deep breath after a nightmare, it hadn’t felt like drowning when Arthur had straddled his hips declaring his love for Eames lips while sinking down on Eames erection, it hadn’t felt like drowning when he’d taken Arthur in hand and brought him to a dramatic orgasm. No, none of those moments had felt like drowning.  But this here, this moment now, being faced with the morning after with the sticky sheeted reality of what he had done what they had done; Eames only just stopped himself from retching again.

What could he offer someone like Arthur? The man was a bespoke dream and he was a fantasy made whole and real to Eames, one he could never earn or deserve. Eames wasn’t a bad man, he was no thief or conman, not really, but he could never be good enough to deserve the pure and unfaltering affection he felt through the other man’s touch. The sounds he made when Eames touched him, the way his hands had clawed at Eames’ chest Arthur’s sharp nails leaving thin read lines Eames could see reflected back to him in the bathroom mirror, the way he had screamed Eames’ name when he climaxed but more than that, more than the passion it was the way Arthur looked at him, like he could do no wrong, the trust Arthur put in him, the way he had pressed himself so closely to Eames’ chest and informed him he may never want to leave. Eames was so lost to him and he was so scared.

Eames brushed his teeth methodically, counting each individual tooth as his mother had taught him to do when he had nightmares as a child, he felt calm, too calm, the sort of panicked calm the accompanied a decision you knew was wrong. He slipped out of the bathroom, grabbing the duffle he had thrown on the hotel floor and dragging on his running gear he worked on ‘morning-after auto pilot’ calling down to the front desk and ordering room service; breakfast, coffee, orange juice, something for Arthur when he woke up. It was right to be polite, he thought.

It was good really, he thought as he watched Arthur move in his sleep, they couldn’t possibly have been right for each other, they were too different. Arthur, cool and detached and suit wearing. Eames, more bohemian and free; he needed to be free to design, he reminded himself, this was the right thing to do. They had freed themselves from the foolish infatuation now and it was time to move on. Arthur would move on and find someone who was right for him and Eames, well, Eames maybe would take a little longer to leave his feelings behind but this night would have helped. Really, he told himself, he was being responsible.

Arthur stirred then. The rhythm of his breaths stuttering as he turned onto his side, his arm outstretched and searching. Eames pretended his heart didn’t ache when he saw the confused expression Arthur wore; he pretended he didn’t feel his stomach drop when Arthur roused, opening his eyes and searching for him.

When those eyes locked on his he smiled winningly and stuck to his plan.

“Well, glad we got all that out of our systems”

Eames didn’t look too closely at Arthur’s expression as he turned away and explained about breakfast, tying his running shoes and grabbing his mobile phone off the side table.

“Alright well I’m off for a run, enjoy breakfast and oh hey, I meant to say, great season.”

He didn’t look back as he left.

He ran until his feet ached, his thighs were raw and his head throbbed. He didn’t know what he truly wanted to find when he returned to his room but either way he knew he’d already ruined this. He’d ruined it the moment he’d taken Arthur’s hand the night before and whispered endearments in his ear, ruined it the moment he had let the other man brush his mouth over Eames neck and most definitely ruined it when he had allowed them to stumble into his room slightly drunk and full of lust.

Eames deliberately didn’t look at the breakfast tray sitting untouched by the door when he returned, didn’t look at the crumpled sheets or the discarded tissues by the bed. He gathered his crumpled suit, donned his baseball cap and checked out.

He didn’t let himself cry until he finished running, finished running all the way back to England, to his tiny village, to his father’s pub and the safety of his mother’s arms. How could he have let himself do this?


	9. Finding Eames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second update of the day, read chapter 8 before this one because it informs events. Also the rating has changed, not that I imagine it will put anyone off, it's now the same as NBT. lv RMJ X

Joe decided a long time ago that Mombasa was one of his favourite places on the planet. With a population of 1.3 million the place was teeming with people and crowds to get lost in which was precisely what Joe wanted. That was what he had been telling himself for the three weeks since his arrival, he had wanted somewhere he could be lost and solitary but surrounded with people. He had never been made for the social life and responsibilities he had experienced in Boston. He was naturally nomadic and that meant that somewhere like Mombasa was perfect for him. Not only that but there was always work to be had within two days of arrival he was set up acting as a currier for a large multination corporation which maintained a strong foothold in the city; Cobol engineering were a steady employer and although he didn’t often like their ethics he did enjoy the income.

He had set himself up with a new multinational cell phone and the building he picked had Wi-Fi yet the communication with the group back in Boston was lacking. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t missing them between Eames dislike of physics, Paul’s unflappable logic and Matt’s steady smile he was feeling bereft of friendship. He had tried his old methods of making contacts; poker in the backrooms of bars, fishing trips with local boats and long nights walking through the bustling city centre but each interaction was lacking something, some facet of warmth.

At the end of his first week he had tried picking up a woman in the bar beneath his building, it had been going well until he caught the scent of honey in the air and remembered Harriett. He hadn’t been letting himself remember had scrubbed his memory of the wrap party; the feeling of her body pressed close to his, his hands moving with the sway of her hips, the way in which she had tilted her head so he had an unimpeached view of her flawless neck and the swell of her breasts held within the tight bodice of her dress. 

He had watched as Eames and Arthur drifted into a dark corner twenty minutes before the pair made a swift exit each of them swaying slightly under the influence of the drink they’d consumed and undoubtedly the sexual tension they’d been revelling in for months. Joe was glad they had finally figured out how much they both wanted each other. He wanted his friends to be happy. But Harry, he didn’t know what he wished for Harry. 

                                                                                                                                                                                 Joe had resisted kissing her again but it had been a near thing. He had taken those that were going home back to their neighbourhoods until it was just the two of them in the car, Harry had rested her hand on his thigh at some point during the drive and he hadn’t been able to make himself remove it. Joe held no desire to hurt her he was leaving in the morning and whatever it was she was hoping for wasn’t going to happen. When he had pulled up in front of her building he had decided on his words, the ones he wanted to use to explain precisely why he needed to leave. He wasn’t the right person for her. She deserved someone who was ready to devote their life to hers’ and Joe just couldn’t ever imagine that person being him.

Instead he had found himself being straddled, Harry placing her knees on either side of his thighs and resting her back against the steering wheel. Neither of them had said anything while she had traced his lips with her fingers.

_“If I kissed you now, would you deny me?”_ Harry asked.

_“I don’t know but I would hope so.”_ Joe answered.

_“Why would you hope so?”_ Harry said.

_“Because you deserve better than me and because I am leaving in the morning. If you kiss me now, I will still leave Harry. It won’t change anything.”_ Joe answered softly.

 He ran his fingers over the silken material of her dress where it covered her waist. Harry sat still while he did this her fingers lingering on his cheek before tracing his jaw softly. 

_“Okay so it won’t change anything. Why should that stop us from sharing a kiss, why should it stop you from coming inside and fucking me through the evening? Why won’t you share that with me? I’m a big girl Joe I can make this decision for myself.”_ Harry said.

_“I understand that. I do and I don’t mean to indicate that you can’t but I would regret it.”_ He had felt a stab of guilt run through him why he saw the pain his words caused her, _“Not because it’s you Harry, how could you think that? But because I would still leave and that would hurt. It would hurt you and it would hurt me if I left after we shared a night together. Believe me when I say that I want to. I want you. The way I imagine it we would be incredible but I can’t hurt myself like that and I couldn’t handle knowing I had hurt you, really hurt you.”_ Joe explained.

Harry had nodded like she understood. She leant forward her arms wrapped around his shoulders and sat breathing deeply against his neck.  He had been overwhelmed by her scent, by the softness of her body pressed against his. The moment wasn’t sexual even if the position was provocative and Joe was glad for small mercies. If she had truly pushed, truly attempted to seduce him he knew his will would have crumbled. It had been a long time since he had encountered anyone like Harry, anyone he truly believed could hold him in one place. That fact alone was enough to send him running.

_“I do understand Joe but I want you to understand as well. I think it’s very possible that I’m in love with you and I think it’s very possible, certain in fact, that even if you leave that feeling isn’t going to change for some time. No matter what happens tonight your leaving still hurts. It still hurts me and I still wish you weren’t leaving. I do understand though, I understand that you feel like you have to go but I want you to know that I really, really don’t want you to.”_ Harry clambered off his lap then, back to the passenger side seat. _“If you decide this is where you want to be Joseph, come and find me, you know where I’ll be.”_

Joe hadn’t said anything as he watched Harry climb out of his truck, what was there to say, how would explaining that he shared her feelings make it any better. He had tried explaining it to his mother thinking, foolishly, that she would understand perhaps even sympathise but she had told him he was a damn fool for leaving. The biggest problem was he thought she might have been right and when Joe had been consumed by longing at even the hint of that scent he had felt a little piece of himself get lost. He had wondered to himself in the evening, on occasion, exactly how much of himself he had left behind in Boston, with that group of wonderful people, friends and in some cases potential loves.

***

**Four days later**

Joe had been trying to get hold of a member of Eames team for weeks but Harry seemed to be screening her calls, the onetime Franco had answered Joe had been treated to numerous Italian swear words and no one had been able to contact Eames. He had exchanged emails a few times with Matt who informed him that Eames had been MIA since after the party and no one was quite sure where the madcap designer had gone. People had seen Arthur around town but Eames seemed to have completely vanished.

It was a surprise then when Joe got a phone call at three in the morning from Dom Cobb,

“Joe. Thank Christ you answered your phone. Do you know where the fuck Eames is?”

“What? Is he still MIA? No I haven’t heard from him.”

“For fuck sake he can’t just fucking vanish. I swear to God. Bloody television divas the lot of them.” Joe heard what he thought was the rattle of a pill bottle come from Dom’s end of the phone. He tended to get headaches when dealing with the network and his current position created an abundance of those moments, hence the slight dependence of headache tablets.

“Look Dom I don’t know what to tell you, have you spoken to Arthur? Maybe he knows where Eames has gotten off to.”

“No I haven’t because the bloody man won’t answer his calls and his emails are beyond vague. I’m starting to think maybe the man’s killed Eames and buried him under the deck or something.”

“Dom Arthur isn’t a murderer.”

“You don’t know that, you’re not here and the man is fucking terrifying sometimes. Like the Ice Bitch of Boston I fucking swear.”

“Firstly you’re being irrational and very rude Dom. Secondly what is it you want me to do? I don’t have some sort of Eames tracker that will locate him for you. You’re just going to have to keep trying him.”

“What do I want? WHAT DO I WANT? I want you, your fucking British dick of a designer and that prissy estate agent to get your asses back to Boston and back on site because we need to confirm the second season and I CAN’T DO THAT IF NO ONE ANSWERS THEIR FUCKING PHONES JOE!” Joe took the phone away from his ear while Dom ranted, there would be no stopping him Joe had learnt during the first season and somehow whenever Eames fucked up Dom would come to him and explode. The fact Joe wasn’t actually Eames PA didn’t seem to occur to the man but Dom had always lived in his own world. God someone needed to get the man laid. 

“Are you done Dom?”

“Yes.”

“Okay so here’s my suggestion. I’m going to ring around his haunts and see if anyone has seen him. Then when I find him, which I will do my best to do, I will send him back to you. Then this is over and my duty is done, okay?”

“Fine. Do that.” Dom hung up the phone as if his final statement wasn’t ridiculously rude.

Starting with email seemed sensible as Matt had been the most responsive so he set himself up to be Skype ready in case he got very lucky and someone was online and started compiling emails. Matt got back to him within five minutes with a phone number for Paul that wasn’t work related and so after checking the time difference decided if Cobb had woken him up he should return to favour. Spread the wealth and all that.

The phone rang four times before a surprisingly awake Paul answered. The pair caught up quickly before Joe dived into the reason behind his call.

“I don’t know what to tell you man, I saw him the day after the party briefly and he told me he was going home.”

“What did he actually say though? Do you remember?”

“It was something like ‘Paul I fucked up, I can’t fix it, I really need to go home.’ The man seemed pretty distraught honestly Joey, I haven’t seen him like that. Ever. I offered to take him but he said he was dropping his car off and then taking a cab.”

“Taking a cab where?”

“I dunno, all he kept saying when I asked him where he was off too was home. That was it.” 

Joe thanked him and promised to send a postcard from wherever he stopped off next. He considered what Eames had said and wondered what exactly he would do if someone asked him where home was. He would struggle because he had never built himself one but honestly for Joe home would likely be wherever his mother is. Perhaps the feeling should be split between his two parent’s homes but he’s never been that close to his Dad and his mother had always been the one to pick him up and brush off the dust after a disaster. He wonders if maybe it would be the same for Eames. A quick Google search provides him with the information he needs and he thinks about calling the number for the Public House in England but his brain stutters at the idea. His gut is telling him he shouldn’t call, that he should confront Eames directly but there existed a distinct possibility that the feeling was caused more by his missing his best friend than concern for Eames wellbeing. He decides to leave it for the evening, get some sleep and consider things more clearly in the morning.

Of course that logic lasted for the grand total of an hour.


	10. A Dog Called Holly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a dog, she's called Holly, there's a whole heap of other stuff including Joe freaking out, more swearwords then this writer is used to using being included and a kind old man. But the dog, the dog is the important bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people, didn't manage to get this to my beta but i've had a go so any glaring errors feel free to mention them and i'll correct as and when my thesis stops stressing me out! 
> 
> Love and kisses to the CP, I miss you guys sooooooooooo much. 
> 
> Smooches from Yorkshire 
> 
> RMJ X
> 
> p.s. OH and thanks to the campfire chatroom group on final chapter night for helping me pick a british village you guys were lovely. Mwah!

If a person were looking for the quintessential British village experience they would likely think to look in one of the national parks; The Peak District, The Lake District, The Yorkshire Dales or Dartmoor all held some of the most idyllic spaces in England but for Joe he’d always found the Cotswolds particularly enchanting. Which was why when Eames had mentioned his parents owning a country pub on the banks of the River Windrush Joe had not only known exactly the village Eames had meant but had noted down the address the intention being that the next time he visited his home town he would stop in for a visit and a pint. He’d been through Bourton on the Water on bike rides with his brother when his family camped in the area over summer but he’d never taken in much besides the slightly intimidating charm of the place.

There was a difference he noted between visiting when you were in your teens and visiting when in search of your run away boss in your late twenties, perhaps it was the intention which changed his perception but either way the early morning mist and reduced light gave the village much more of a mysterious air. Figuring that five thirty in the morning was a little early to be waking anybody up Joe took up a sentry post on the bench outside and awaited some movement which would announce alertness within the property.

Joe was making a conscious effort not to fall asleep but the combination of Jet Lag and departing a country so quickly anyone would think you were a criminal had done a number on his body clock. Judging by the sheer amount of lace curtain twitching the neighbourhood watch was not taking lightly the appearance of a bedraggled man lugging a backpack, a duffle bag and a woven hemp sack into their midst. He couldn’t really blame them; Bourton of the Water did not give off the air of a village that accepted vagrants or ramblers as a given, not to say they would have been uncharitable but to Joe’s judgment, made somewhere between the village shop, post office and model village, their provisions for the homeless masses had likely been lost.

Joe tilted his head back and tried desperately not to once again question what he had been thinking when he jumped on the first flight he’d found which landed anywhere near London, he had ended up at Gatwick in the middle of the night at a slight loss about how to proceed to his destination when he hadn’t thought to look up coaches, trains or generally plan any part of this expedition before leaving Mombasa.  The coach he had settled on was luxurious by the standards of some of the countries he had inhabited but the reality remained that he wasn’t driving and was surrounded by close, sweaty, and in the case of one gentleman intoxicated, strangers. He had been miserable then when he had been released three miles from his destination with no taxis in sight and only the vague directions of a passing jogger to get him to the village he was aiming for. So overall ending up on a cold and miserable bench in front of a country pub where his friend may or may not be was the least traumatic part of his journey even if he was under the seemingly constant glare of a busy body neighbour.

Joe recognised that he was about two minutes from some kind of meltdown when a green tennis ball landed solidly in his lap. It was followed seconds later by a bedraggled  looking Collie dog who seemed to have enjoyed an early morning swim; Joe deduced this by the sheer amount of water that the dog transferred to his person when it stopped to rest it’s chin on his knee and stare at the ball he now held in his hand.

“She’ll leave you be if you throw the ball lad.” Joe whipped his head to the left to see a smiling gentleman approaching him. Joe could make out wisps of grey hair from beneath the brim of his walking hat and there was something about his smile which seemed familiar. Joe threw the ball somewhere in the direction of the river and while the dog bounded after it he shifted his bags to make room for the older gentleman on the bench beside him.

“Kind of you son, what brings you out here at the crack of dawn. Bit early for a pint and a bit nippy for a countryside walk” the man said. Joe chuckled lightly while the man patted the head of the dog that had returned to his side, sans ball, seemingly desperate for attention. “She’s an early riser this one, retired farm dog is our Holly. We took her in, me and my wife, when our boy left home she keeps us company but I have to admit I miss the lie-ins something fierce sometimes.”

“She’s adorable I have to admit but I think being dragged out of bed every morning would get old for me pretty quick.” Joe said.

The man chuckled lightly, his laugh was warm and the smile he wore on his face was reflected in the wrinkled that framed his eyes. “Those are the words of a man who’s never had to get up for two a.m, feedings.”

Joe laughed in response, “You’re right I’ve never experienced that.”

The dog, Holly, runs between the bench and her ball in some form of incomplete fetch but she does it happily barking occasionally when she returns and accepting a scratch behind the ears from Joe on a few occasions. “I may not have done the early morning feedings but I have experienced jet lag that’s kept one asleep for twenty four hours straight before, I suppose that’s almost the opposite of the effects a child has on your life.”

The man considers Joe’s comment with a slight bob of his head. “You’re not wrong there but I will say this, the feeling of wanting to sleep for that long that you do experience but it is the opportunity you lack. Between work, a constant stream of guests, a partner and a new baby you’d be lucky to get more than four, five hours, a night. Is it your work that provides the jet lag then, I have to say I’d have put you down for a travel writer, we get a few of those around these parts. The Venice of the Cotswolds that’s what they’ve dubbed our little town here.” Joe thinks town is a bit of an exaggeration, he’d agree with large village but town would be pushing it, the place doesn’t even have a supermarket.

“It’s a lovely village. But no I’m not a travel writer it is my work that keeps me moving though, well that a personal inclination to move around. I like experiencing new places.” Joe’s become used to answering questions about how he earns his wages. He’s never come up with a title for what he does but he’s always enjoyed it.

“Nothing wrong with that; my Maggie she always wanted to travel, I took her on holidays whenever I could but then we had our son and soon after our business and travel became a little less important. Plenty of adventures to be had a little closer to home; especially with a son like ours. He’d get himself into trouble the second you took your eyes off him. He’s not changed though, still getting himself into scrapes. I said to my wife just the other night I said ‘Maggie that boy will never stop getting himself into bother, he’s a little flighty, a little artistic and a complete romantic and those things don’t lead to nothing but trouble in the long run’.”   The man nods wisely at Joe just as Holly drops the sodden ball in his lap again, he didn’t hesitate to throw it this time both men watching quietly as the dog bounded after it her black and white body moving like a blur in the early morning fog.

“I didn’t catch your name son or what brings you to our rather damp neck of the woods so early on a weekday. By the looks of it you’ve sent Mrs. Collins into gossip mode already.” The man points surreptitiously towards the twitching curtains with a slightly mischievous, in Joe’s opinion, grin planted on his face. There’s something about that smile Joe thinks that reminds him of Boston.

“I’m looking for my friend, he’s kind of gone missing and we’re, his friends I mean, we’re a little worried about him. He’s not one for leaving a job half done and his producers currently flipping a lid about him not answering his phone.” The man’s face drops a little and Joe wonders what he’s said. The man is a kind soul by all appearances and Joe wonders if it’s perhaps concern that’s changed the expression.

“Your friend, do you know why he left?”

“No, not yet but I intend to find out.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why do you want to find out? Perhaps his leaving was a sign he didn’t wish to discuss the issue.”

“Ah, well, yes I suppose that’s possible but I wasn’t around when whatever happened, happened and I want to make sure he’s alright.”

“Why?”

Joe shrugs, his annoyance at the man’s questioning beginning to show in the tone of his answer, “He’s my friend and I think he’s in pain. Why wouldn’t I want to help?”

“Not many people would do that; travel across an ocean to check on a friend. You sure that’s all it is?”

“He’s not just my friend you’re right, he’s my best friend, I’ve not known him long but I care about him and honestly I’m a little worried I contributed towards the mess he’s in and I need to fix that because if I did and if this mess is in any way my fault then I’ve potentially hurt a lot of people I care about in a very short period of time.”

Joe’s noticed his breathing becoming laboured with panic; he had been repressing it for the hours, that feeling that he’s fucked up something important, since his phone call with Dom possibly even earlier Joe can’t be certain how long he’s been repressing it, but it was now hitting him quite solidly in the gut. He’d hurt so many people this time.

His friends; Matt was pissed enough to only talk to him via email, Yusuf made vague grunts over Skype, Franco was apoplectic with rage and Eames; well Joe had no idea how Eames was because the bastard wouldn’t answer his phone, email or texts and the last Paul, sane rational Paul, could report Eames was in the middle of some sort of crisis and where the fuck had Joe been he’d been in fucking Mombasa drinking beer and trying to pick up random chicks in a bar. That didn’t even touch on the pain he’d likely caused his mother and fucking hell the look on Harry’s face when he’d driven away; she’d been fucking crying and what had he done to comfort her, the woman he loved, _FUCKING LOVED,_ he’d done jack shit but run off again like the coward his father had always liked to infer that he was. 

The panic filling him felt akin to one of the panic attacks of his youth but Joe hadn’t had those for years; not since his father stopped pressuring him to be manlier and pursue sports and rock climbing and enter into the family business. He had pacified him with a love of cars and science and cross country but no realistically Joe knew his father calmed considerably, overnight in fact, when he had brought his first girlfriend home and proved his heterosexuality. The man had been so fucking terrified that one of his sons might be gay that he’d filled their life with aggression and bitterness and god Joe hated him.  Joe felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he was being forced into a seated position with the man crouched in front of him lightly gripping his hands.

“Are you coming back around now, your breathing is getting a little better, just keep breathing deeply that’s it. Go with the feeling until it has passed. You know this would be easier if I knew your name son.”  Joe managed to croak his name out in response and the man smiled. Holly had come to inspect the scene and Joe felt her wet nose press against his left knee. His tremors turned into light laughter when the dog proceeded to lick said denim covered knee. 

“You’re doing well now Joe, my name is Albert. Albert Eames.” Joe snapped his head up scanning the facial features of the man before him and seeing the distinct resemblance to the Eames that he’d come to know so well. He was caught somewhere between hysterical and exhausted.

Albert rose from his knees with a slight joint popping noise and proceeded to grab Joe’s biggest bag from besides him.  “Come on lad time to get up. My Maggie makes the best breakfast this side of the Beacons have I told you that, well anyway it’s the best and she makes a mean cup of coffee too. Very strong, a bit bitter; like Marmite you know, but goodness it will wake you up good and proper.”

When Joe made no move to follow, shocked as he was at fates twisted sense of humour the older man called for his dog and pushed open the door. “I’m going to leave this door open Joe, you come in when you’re ready. Eamesie won’t be up for hours yet.” It took ten minutes, a highly unmanly giggle fit ( _fuck you Dad)_ and the smell of some seriously strong coffee before Joe finally managed to get himself off the bench and through the door.


	11. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe confront Eames. 
> 
> Oh and there's some twitter.
> 
> And some major Eames angst at the end!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't get a chance to send this to my beautiful beta but the next chapter is almost done and she'll have that one. 
> 
> If there are any errors they're mine, feel free to point them out :)
> 
> E.T.A: AO3 cut off the literal last line which I'm now replacing, sorry guys!

 Breakfast ended up taking over the better part of the morning; Eames appearing downstairs at eight in the morning wearing his shock at Joe’s appearance clearly on his face. Albert proved himself to be a charming host; he filled the breakfast room with laughter and good stories about Eames adventures growing up. Maggie interrupted on occasion to ply everyone with more coffee, breakfast items or her own observations regarding Eames decision to climb the large oak tree outside the small church that sat in the centre of the village. Eames claimed not to remember the incident but when he and Joe found time later, in the early hours of the evening, to sit together just the two of them he recounts the tale from his perspective.

“I was playing a game with a few of our neighbours, I think it was hide and seek. Any way Bobby, who lived a few doors over, was counting and the rest of us were fighting over the best hiding places. With me being the youngest I got the worst available; the church entry. The other boys took their hiding places around the village square and I was determined to win so I gave up the entry way in favouring of climbing the tree. I was four years younger and a little scrawny but I could climb so I did. I crawled along the branches until I was completely obscured from view.” Joe found himself laughing hard throughout the story. Eames went on to describe his realisation that he was stuck, followed quickly by the realisation that he had hidden so well no one could find him and that by the look of the clouds a rain storm was rolling in.

Albert had found him an hour into the rain storm, his father was near frantic Eames remembered distinctly how his father’s hair had stood on end when he climbed the tree struggling with the rain soaked braches. Eames clothes had been soaked through when Albert had convinced him to shuffle to the edge of the branch so he could finally be pulled down. Albert and Maggie had slept with Eames between them that night; Eames clinging tightly to his mother’s night gown as he sweated through the slight fever he had managed to contract during his adventures.

Maggie hadn’t wanted to let her son out of her sight for three weeks but there had come a point when Eames had simply chosen to take matters into his own hands sneaking out the back door of the pub when his mother had been accepting the latest brewery delivery. Albert once again retrieved him, this time from a perch along the rivers embankment skipping stones with a group of little girls Albert had never seen before, Albert returned ever the Eamesian wrangler with his son flung over his shoulder. Eames had sat on the bar that evening recounting his adventures to the patrons of The Mousetrap Inn with many a reactive gasp from those closest to the eight year old, even Maggie had to admit there was no keeping their Eamesie out of mischief.

Joe spent the afternoon in the sun helping Eames sand down the tables in the beer garden and discussing the different types of Ale the pub was thinking of including in the summer ale festival they held each year.  Eames lay back on the grass discussing the design features of the clouds while he attempted to convince his father that including more than a single pale ale would not bring down the establishment when Joe asked why they didn’t truly push the boundaries, incite madness but include a stout and Belgian round in the festivities; shake things up a little for the regulars. Neither of the Eames men responded immediately, Joe had been left feeling momentarily foolish before Albert started flipping through the Breweries catalogue while Eames knelt close to his side naming brands of Belgian beer he had while on his gap year trekking through parts of Europe. 

The evening was spent working the bar with Eames and Keera carefully blending in to the more English humour that surrounded him. He admired the smooth actions of Eames and Keera as they navigated the space allowed to them behind the bar with a practiced ease born from years of shared shifts when Eames lived in the United Kingdom.

When last orders were called and Joe watched Eames slump over into one of the booths thoroughly exhausted he realised there was no way he was going to coax the man into a serious conversation about anything let alone something as contentious as his position of Love it or List it so instead he mirrored Eames position on the opposite side of the table and laughed when Maggie brought them each a pint of water exclaiming over the state of Eames jeans, he had been victim to at least three spilled drinks over the night not to mention the nose bleed he had been treated to when helping one of the regulars off the floor. The man hadn’t punched Eames but his elbow had connected squarely with the centre of Eames face when the drunk had waved his arms to attempt to stay upright.

***

They spent three days working solidly and distinctly avoiding any conversation that covered Boston, the inhabitants of Boston and clearly side stepping any attempts the locals made to discuss Eames growing stardom in the States. Joe had been surreptitiously checking social media outlets the day of the penultimate episode airing. The response had been overwhelmingly positive with viewers clearly besotted with both Eames and Arthur not to mention their onscreen chemistry. He began almost obsessively checking Harry and Fredrick’s twitter feeds daily for any mention of the show. Harry live tweeted during the episode with her ever growing following of fan girls re-tweeted and responded with glee every time she gave a small insight into the off screen goings on during each episode.

**LIoLI Incognito @LIoLIinc. June 24**

**It took a team of 4 2 days to make that sofa. 4 hours before walk through Eames sat on it and it broke** [ **#hemakesmylifestressful** ](https://twitter.com/search?q=%23hemakesmylifestressful) [ **#butworthit** ](https://twitter.com/search?q=%23butworthit)

**Hudders221b @Hd221b**

**@LIoLIinc OMG LOL**

**Dimple Lover @A/EButts**

**@LIoLIinc tell Eames we love his butt almost as much as Arthur!**

**LIoLI incognito @LIoLIinc**

**@A/EButt You can tell him yourself he’s on twitter! @** **Eamesnotthechair**

**Franc Designs @FDesigns**

**@LIoLIinc Perhaps you should have chosen more sturdy materials #Dontblametheboss #Justice4EamesButt**

**LIoLI Incognito @LIoLIinc**

**@FDesigns Perhaps you should get YOUR butt back downstairs before Matt & Yusuf drink all your tequila! #DontsayIdidntwarnyou**

Joe sought out Eames company to show him the messages; it seemed to be a good a place as any to bring up the fate of Love it or List it. He found him leant against the shed in the garden, the side obscured from view as he was currently smoking what looked to be his third cigarette of the evening. Joe had witnessed the unstoppable force of Maggie’s disapproving glare the night before when Eames had leant across the bar to flirt with one of the villages tourists and he didn’t blame Eames for avoiding further exposure.

“You don’t think that at thirty two hiding your habits from your mother becomes a little sad.” Joe asked sitting down on the grass next to Eames.

“No I think it’s a ridiculously sad but entirely necessary habit born from having an overprotective mother and an overly doting Father.  If Dad’s not out here joining us in twenty minutes I’ll eat my hat.”  Eames answered. Joe laughed in response and held back on pointing out Eames never wore a hat.

The wood of behind his back was uncomfortable certainly but the damp mud currently spreading across the denim covering his arse proved more so but he stayed exchanging the cigarette for the phone and taking a few drags while Eames followed the sequence on Harry’s feed.  Eames was smiling but it didn’t reach his eyes, none of his smiles over the duration of Joe’s visits had.

“Are we ever going to talk about what happened on that last night Eames?”

“I imagine we will Joe, why?” Eames cast his eyes down as he tracked the path the ash he tapped from his cigarette took on route to the ground.

“No reason really except of course the three emails I’ve received today from one Mr Cobb who seems to be under the impression that you’re leaving the show.” Joe said while swiping a finger across the screen of his phone to bring up the email he was talking about.

They sat in silence while Eames read the message from Dom in which he had detailed Eames rejecting the design position on the show through a very succinct email. Eames stubbed out the remains of his cigarette and drew out new ones for himself and Joe. Joe had received the panicked email from the producer five hours ago informing him that both the shows stars had indicated they had no intention of continuing with a second season. Dom was quite rightly having a meltdown. It was bullshit; Joe knew they both loved the show and the experience of being on television. He had responded to Dom’s panicked email with a promise to discuss the issue with Eames this evening because Joe knew it had to be a mistake. Eames had flourished under the attention and atmosphere of Love it or List it not to mention the pleasure he had seen on the man’s face every day that he got to work amongst his chosen team of workers. 

“Does it matter Joe? They can get a new designer to work on the show with Arthur. They can get the best.”

“Yeah except Arthur doesn’t want to fucking do it either. According to Dom you’ve both called it quits so tell me what the fucking point of that is. You guys make a great team, you have insane chemistry and the banter. Why wouldn’t you want to carry on?”

“Joe it’s complicated.”

“Like hell it is Eames. For god sake you loved the show I know you did.”

“Yeah alright so what if I did?”

“Then what the fuck are you playing at? Why would you quit?”

“Because it would be fucking impossible okay, being there, seeing him the fucking banter. I can’t do it Joe.”

“What the hell happened between you two Eames? What the hell you go from being in love with the man to not being able to look at him. What did he reject you?” Joe asked.

“No.” Eames answered while stubbing out the last of his cigarette and pushing himself up off the ground. Joe’s sits staring after Eames as his friend retreats towards the house, the cigarette Eames gave him still pursed between his fingers slowly burning out without his attention.

Joe felt his anger rise as he pushed himself off the ground to follow after Eames. “Then what the fuck man!” Joe shouted after him as he reached out to grab Eames arm and bring him to a halt.

“He didn’t fucking reject me alright. He didn’t fucking do anything, it was me. I fucked up.” Eames snarled.

“How? What could you have possibly done Eames to make this the only course of action.”

“Why the fuck should I explain myself to you! What the hell Joe, we’ve known each other for less than a year and you think coming here and questioning me is okay. It’s not fucking okay man. You’re not my keeper you can’t just swan in and tell me what to do with my life okay. It’s my life, not yours so just fuck off alright.”

Joe was left reeling as he watched Eames walk away the man's anger felt like a slap to the face. He walked back to sit against the shed hoping for at least a while to be left in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear we're so close to the end of the angst, one more chapter and then there will be comedy and fun things and some Franco because the man says the most insane things :) love you all! #NBT darlings.


	12. Resolutions: Maggie & Eames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie is the best. That's all you need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both this and the next chapter are dedicated to @beginningwithA (I don't know how to tag on here...) who has been marvelous in general and who also helped me without realising to solidify the direction I wanted this to go. So kudos to her!
> 
> Ok this is ridiculous but the chapter is being split again. It's even longer now and in general OMG is my only feeling. It's fully written but yes it'll be provided to you in two parts. This being part one! 
> 
> So this is Maggie and Eames with a hint of Albert. Angst is minimal in my opinion but please share your own in the comment section. 
> 
> My wonderful beta Ruby is still busy (boo!) so this has only had my fair gaze upon it. Let me know if you read any errors and i'll jump on them like Holly and a tennis ball. 
> 
> Adoration to all of you NBT Darlings!

Maggie Eames had watched her son traverse many obstacles over his lifetime. She had watched and helped him navigate the social and moral obstacles of boyhood, watched him grow and mature into a young man that while inherently polite and jovial struggled to keep his cool when provoked.

 She had held him when at fifteen he had stumbled home bearing the bruises of a secondary school bully that he had tried to take on alone. She had encouraged the independence he expressed a craving for at sixteen and after he told her about his first kiss she shed tears of gladness at her son’s confidence in who he was.

She had watched him find his passion for design, music and art, she had stood beside her husband their hands tightly linked while they watched him board a plane for his first big adventure and she had held back the tears when she watched him pack all that he held dear into two suitcases to travel to America.

Maggie had never watched her son be cruel however.  As she watched from the kitchen window she saw him shake the foundations of a friendship she knew he valued and leave it damaged in the shade of his personal grief. They hadn’t spoken about the circumstances surrounding his hasty return. Albert insisted that Eames needed rest and safety rather than confrontation but Maggie had put up with enough. She had not watched her son grow into such a strong and impressive young man just to have him destroy his life over a foolish mistake.

Maggie located her husband and sent him into the beer garden, she instructed him to help Joe pull his head out his own arse and recognise why he was so eager to return to Boston while she confronted Eames. Albert seemed uncertain initially but the man had always been a ditherer when it came to confronting their son about any kind of misdeed.

“Magpie I’m just not sure they’re ready. They’ve not been here very long it wouldn’t do any harm to leave them in peace for a while longer.” Albert attempted to reason.

“Albert Eames you listen to me, you told me once when Eamesie was young that I was being overbearing well now I’m telling you. You’re desperate for him to stay because you miss your son, so do I, but his place is in America. He’s so happy there Albie we can’t keep him here, the same is true of Joe.” She softened her voice while taking his hands lightly in her own. “It’s where their hearts are Albie, who are we to try and keep them from their hearts.”

Maggie always knew her husband was conceding a point when he sighed deeply and shook his head, it was his tell, he had always been terrible at poker his face was that expressive.

 “They belong on their show and Joe certainly belongs with that girl. Now you go tell him and make sure he listens. He’s as stubborn as Eames and just as heart sick.” 

She received a kiss on her right cheek before Albert darted through to the front of house, no doubt to collect a drink for the two to talk over; where Albert relied on Ale however Maggie relied on tea.

Every time Eames had come home in a state his first request had always been for a cup of tea, made by his mum and only his mum, now she used it as a conversation marker. Anytime they were to have a serious conversation it always started with a cup of tea in Eames favourite mug.

***

She found him pacing the living room, it was never a good start when she found him pacing.

“Eamesie come and have a cup of tea with me.” Maggie said brandishing the tea tray in his direction as she moved toward the sofa. Eames stopped mid stride and snuck a glance at the mugs she had balanced on her tray. She watched his shoulders droop when he spotted the polka dot design that decorated his.

“Mum I really don’t want…”

“I don’t remember asking what you wanted Eames. I believe I told you to come and have some tea.” Eames reached out to accept the cup she held out towards him and sat gingerly on the edge of the chair Maggie then pointed to. “It’s time we had a conversation and you know it. So sit, drink and when you’re ready start at the beginning.”

It took two false starts, a rambling side monologue about the apparent annoying qualities of gravity (Maggie sent up her thanks once again for Paul and Joe) not to mention two fresh cups of tea before Eames managed to tell his tale; swear words and the inclusion of slightly more graphic details than necessary aside, Maggie was glad to have the full story. There was only so much a mother could infer from half broken sentences and sarcastic comments.

She admitted to feeling a great deal of sorrow for the man Eames described. To her it sounded very possible that Arthur could have been as in love with her son just as Eames clearly was with him but she also had to agree with Eames assessment that riding in on a metaphorical white horse was likely the wrong move now.

If he had initiated an apology immediately; if part way through his foolhardy run he had realised his error and gone storming back to the hotel room catching Arthur mid way through packing and wrestled with his demon’s enough to explain himself, explain his fear, she liked to think Arthur would have understood; would have forgiven. But now that moment had past. Eames for whatever reason had panicked and wounded both himself and Arthur in the process.

Maggie leaned back and allowed the sofa to cradle her body there was only so much she could suggest for Eames to do moving forwards. He had made his decision when he adopted that air of nonchalance after waking up in bed with the man.

“I think I understand Eames but I want you to explain to me why any of that means you’ve left your job.” Eames rolled his eyes and allowed his body to slump backwards into the chair, lord but he could act like a teenager sometimes, “Now don’t get huffy with me young man I’m still your mother and I honestly don’t understand so explain it to me.”

“Mum I can’t face seeing him everyday alright. It would hurt me and it would hurt him. I don’t want to hurt him again, I can’t stop thinking about his face when he realised I was leaving.” Eames muttered the last of his answer into the palm of his hand where it rested across his face. It was difficult to watch Eames close in on himself but he was his father’s son the pair of them were too open with their hearts in her opinion, they had no defence built up their only settings being love and panic.

“Eames you hurt him and I’m not saying it wouldn’t be awkward but you love your job sweetheart. You adore being on the television you shouldn’t just give that up.”

“But Mum…” Eames whined clearly growing exacerbated.

It was difficult for Maggie to maintain a straight face when Eames voice reverted to something akin to his twelve year old self, this conversation clearly bringing his emotional age down rapidly. That voice always brought to mind the little boy who attempted to snaffle a biscuit of the tray before dinner. It had never been ‘but dad’; for the most part that was because Albert crumbled under the Eamesian ‘puppy dog eyes’, he was just the same now with Holly.

“No sweetheart, no you have to listen now alright. You’re hurting I understand that and you’re angry with yourself I can understand that too but the problem comes when you’re punishing yourself for an emotional reaction you have little control over, you didn’t handle it well but punishing yourself now will do you no good. You know I understand, I really do, but you have to stop now, you have to stop for yourself because this self destructive path will lead you no place good. You’re not helping anyone by doing this and to be truthful you’re hurting the people you care about by holding on to this pain so tightly. You have to start letting it go Eames.”

“I can’t just stop feeling it mum.”

“I know Eamesie, I know, you feel things so deeply just like your father but I can’t help but feel like you’re making decision’s you’re going to regret later because of this guilt and pain you’re feeling. Work with me here alright?” She waited for Eames to nod before continuing, if he honestly couldn’t handle the conversation he would let her know. Maggie trusted him to do that. “Now if we took Arthur out of this. Don’t give me that look. I am not saying you forget him but just for a minute take him out of this decision. Do you love your job?”

“Mum…”

“No Eames just yes or no, do you love your job?”

“You know I do, yes, I love it.”

“Alright, do you have a good team around you and everything you need to be good at your job?”

“Yes, they’re great, they’re my friends.”

“Do you love being on the television, are you alright with people recognising you when you go out to the supermarket?” Maggie asked.

“I like being on the television. It’s weird when people recognise me it’s not happened often.” Eames said.                                                                                                                                                                                                 

“Okay. Then I believe you should look at this as two separate decisions. Your first decision needs to be what to do about your job and the second decision to my mind should be what to do about Arthur, second only because there is little for you to do about it now, we agree on that don’t we.” She waited for Eames to nod again. “If you love your job, which you do, there’s no good reason to leave it. Before you say anything about Arthur I need you to accept that you don’t have to leave just because you made this mistake.” She picked herself up off the sofa and leant over to kiss her son on the cheek. He closes his eyes when her lips make contact with the lightly stubbled cheek he presented to her. “People make mistakes sweetheart, but you learn, you grow and if you really want to make this right you need to be patient. The heart is a delicate thing Eames; don’t ask for someone else’s if you’re not prepared to give yours away in return.” Maggie decided to leave her son digesting their conversation in the living room while she went in search of Albert and Joe in the garden.


	13. Resolution: Joe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie is still wonderful. Albert wins some major points as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so continuing on from the last note. This is the second chapter of the night and it's rather emotional. 
> 
> I don't think i've ever had to put trigger warnings on here but I want to be sensible and some of the stuff that's talked about in this chapter might be difficult. Nothing happens in the chapter don't worry but two character's discuss some difficult topics and yes, caution is advised if any of the following might be hard for you.
> 
> TW:
> 
> *Homophobia  
> *Domestic Violence  
> *Neglect  
> *Emotional and physical manipulation
> 
> I think that's it. Seriously it's not as bad as I'm making it sound but I just worry and don't want people to get upset so bare with me. If anyone wants a breakdown of what's covered in this chapter without reading it because you think the above could be bad for you please drop me a comment and I'll let you know everything you would need to. If you'd rather do so privately you can find me over on NBT/ HGTV reddit or Tumblr. I have the same name on both. 
> 
> Love you all very much! #NBT Darlings #This is the end of the angst (for now...damn it Eames).

She found the pair leaning close to each other over one of the beer garden’s freshly treated tables. “Have you boys reached any conclusions?” she asked lieu of announcing herself.  Joe jumped slightly but Albert merely grinned and leant up to kiss her lightly on the lips which she facilitated by ducking her head slightly.

“We’ve just been discussing the development of Eames and Arthur’s relationship, onscreen and off. Turns out our boy is a little possessive.” Albert smirked this was no revelation to either of them.

Eames was inherently possessive of most things in his life but in particular the people he loved. He was the first to defend his friend’s when they were faced with bullies, be they other children or adults. The only calls home either of them had received from school concerning Eames were the occasions he took that defence too far; yelling at teachers in the classroom for making his friend’s cry or standing between children that were smaller than him and the typically massive school bullies.

Maggie had never been able to bring herself to regret teaching her son to throw a proper punch. The pair of them had stood, crouched and rolled around this garden, often while laughing, for every evening of the summer holiday’s before he entered secondary school. She had taught Eames the basics of self defence then and years later when he surpassed or knowledge they stood in this space again and he taught her, the moves running smoother in his twenties then they had as a pre-teen.

Maggie sat beside Albert and clasped his hand under the table taking comfort from the strong grip and the warmth of the slightly calloused skin as they listened to Joe tell the rest of his story. The three of them sat quietly after Joe reached the end of the wrap party for season one. The tail was fanciful in part, a story of true love, but didn’t that just sound like Eames.

“That’s basically it, I don’t know the rest of the story surrounding that evening and Eames doesn’t seem to be in a sharing mood.” Joe finished the dregs of the beer Albert brought out with him and wondered if partaking in something stronger would be considered rude.

“So here’s the thing you need to remember about Eames Joey, Eames may be terrible at avoidance; once he gets it into his head that a topic needs working through he doesn’t stop, but he is also the absolute master of denial.” Maggie said as Albert laughed and nodded in agreement. The pair of them had experienced many examples of both over the years.

“With Eames you have to let him get to a place where he wants to talk and then you let him run with it. That’s what we’ve found anyway. Throughout his childhood it would always be obvious when he had an issue, but if you pushed him to talk he would snap or deny everything. But you know he’d come in two days later and just blurt everything at you in a mad rush over the dinner table.” Albert said his voice still infused with mirth. Eames problems never seemed to drive Albert to distraction as they had been known to with Maggie on occasion. There was only so often the boy could complain about the print of the wallpaper in the living room before Maggie had to take a long walk by the river alone.

“Do you remember when he came out Albie? It had been two weeks of Eames fretting and moshing around his room to that terrible music he used to so adore but in the end he simply said it while we were watching Eastenders on a Friday evening,” Albert full on guffawed while Maggie recounted the tale.

“He was awfully grumpy when I started hugging him. Something about him being a grown up and not needing cuddles anymore but he returned it easy enough when he softened out of his teenage mindset.” Maggie said.

“It didn’t matter to you?” Joe asked.

“You mean Eamesie being gay? Lord no, why on earth would it?” Albert asked shocked by the question.

“There are plenty of people who would find their only son being gay upsetting, my father being a prime example.”

“Well no offense to you Joey, you’re a good boy, but your father sounds like a right wanker.”  Maggie said, her usually well humoured tone darkening at the mention of Joe’s father. From the small amounts she had gathered through conversations with Joe, Eames and Albert the man sounded like a rotten bully and Maggie had experienced more than enough of them for a lifetime.

“He really is you know. I was terrified when I was growing up that me or my brother would be gay. I just knew it would tip him over the edge between being an oppressive prick and becoming neglectful. He’s never been physical in it though.” Joe said his final sentence sounding a little panicked as he attempted to calm any ruffled feathers he may have caused.

“That doesn’t make it alright Joe. You know sometimes it’s the words people say or even the words they don’t that leave the biggest wounds. The ignorance of others can sometimes hurt more than their fists.” Maggie said. She noted Joe’s obvious signs of discomfort and decided on a course of action for the rest of the evening. A little booze, lots of talking and maybe some ice cream if it was truly needed.  

“Albie sweetheart why don’t you run in and get us some of that mead Jacob brought for Christmas last year?” Albert nodded and went off in search of his prize.

 Maggie took a moment to move next to Joe and take his hand lightly into her own. His hands are dotted with the same calluses that grace her sons to Maggie’s imagining these marks were the price of hands and minds that could create great beauty.

“I’m sorry you had to grow up with that. I know your mum is lovely and that helps but having to stay in an environment where someone who is supposed to love you makes you scared. That’s just a horrible thing to experience Joe.”

“I sometimes think that don’t really know what love is Maggie. Every example I had of it growing up was so twisted that now just the idea of letting myself be that vulnerable with somebody else. God I hate it.” Maggie gripped his hand tighter his words bringing back memories she had always attempted to bury with the positive one’s of her life now.

“Love is sometimes about making yourself vulnerable.” Maggie agreed.  “But mostly it’s about finding someone to be honest and open with and about trusting that they’ll help keep you safe from harm.”

Maggie took a deep breath before continuing, “I dated a man just before I met Albert who liked to scare me; he filled our relationship with pain and fear and I had no idea how to get out of it. Not until I met Albert.” Maggie attempted to repress the tremble she thought she heard in her voice.

She hadn’t had to think about Simon for so long, the throb of pain that had for so long accompanied any thought of those years of her life was dulled now. Dulled by happiness, time and the blessing that was the family she had built with Albert.

“You know for me love was like a saving grace. Albert kept me safe, body and soul. He took me in just as I was and accepted me even when I felt ridiculously broken. He asked nothing of me and gave me every part of himself without there being any pressure on me to reciprocate. “  The memories of those first months and years of building a strong and loving relationship with the best man she had ever known were both shockingly painful and joyous. Painful because of how long they had to fight against her past but joyous because of the love and laughter Albert had shared with her and accepted in turn when she was ready.

“He made me want to be vulnerable but only when I was ready for it. That was something truly new to me; that trust and that level of devotion. It comes so naturally to him and Eames but to me it was overwhelming. “She remembered the screaming fits Albert endured from her those first months of their relationship. Maggie had to hold herself back from going in search of her husband just so she could remind him with kisses and her words just how much she appreciated everything he had to live through so they could build their family.

“It can be intimidating when you’re not used to it. Sometimes you don’t know how or if you’re even able to love like that. But sometimes when you know the person is right the words find you and you don’t need to be scared anymore.”  Maggie wrapped an arm around Joe’s shoulder while he nodded his head, Maggie took note of his mimicry of Eames distinct head bob of agreement and wondered when he picked up on that, the movement made her smile however and that was no small achievement.

“I wish I could have that.” Joe muttered.

“Wish you could have love? You can Joe; you just have to find the right person. Well you have to find them and then you have to accept them. That might honestly be the hardest bit. It’s difficult to accept love if you don’t feel like you deserve it.”

“I miss her every day. I pretend I don’t because it’s hard but I miss her every day.” Joe muttered. Both Joe and Eames seemed to share a distinct inability to enunciate once uncomfortable emotions were involved in a discussion.

“You mean Harry?” Maggie asked. Joe nodded his head while swiping his eyes roughly with his fingers. “Then why the hell are you still here?” Joe gave a decidedly wet chuckle in response “If you miss her that much so much that it actually hurts then you have to go back there and try to make whatever this is work. With or without Eames Joe, you deserve to be happy.”

“What If she doesn’t want me? She said I hurt her by leaving and I left anyway.” Joe said.

“You left because you were scared; you have a great deal of talking to do because she needs to understand where that fear is coming from but honestly I don’t think you have much to worry about. You didn’t lead her on Joe, if you’re thinking you’re in the same mess as Eames believe me you’re not. You were honest with her and I imagine she is hurt but not so much that she won’t listen to you. Be honest, be open and be yourself. If she loves you then that’s likely all she wants. “Maggie infused her voice with as much confidence as possible; she could only hope she wasn’t setting the lovely boy up to get his heart broken.

“So this isn’t the same advice you gave Eames?”

“No Eames hurt Arthur in a much more vicious way. He didn’t mean to. He would never mean to but in truth his was a much more grand betrayal of trust. I imagine it will take Eames a great deal of time to work up the courage to apologise and explain to Arthur exactly what happened that morning. I know he hasn’t told you everything and I won’t either.”Maggie said and Joe nodded his agreement.

“There are three things I know with certainty Joe. One; Albert will always get distracted when sent on the simplest tasks, his brain was made for complex problems not fetching drinks, two; people always underestimate a middle aged woman’s ability to kick ass, I kick people out of this pub more often than Albie believe me and three: when my Eamesie truly wants something. When it is something he deems worth fighting for. Nothing will stop him. He is tenacious, he is cunning and he loves passionately and devoutly until the very end. He’s like his father; a hopeless romantic but unlike his father Eames has some serious issues with his own self worth. He never has thought himself good enough.”

“Eames is one of the best men I know though. He’s an amazingly talented designer with so much passion for what he does. He inspires me every time I get to work with him and I’m not alone, you could ask any member of Eames team and they would tell you he was the best boss on the planet. He awards people creative freedom but still manages to bring everyone together at the end of the day to make some room exceptionally beautiful.” Joe exuded such sincerity in his speech that Maggie felt herself welling up slightly, she had met a scant number of people privileged enough to work with Eames but if they all spoke this way she could only be proud of her son.

“You see Joe it’s when you say things like that that Franco gets it into his head that we’re shagging.”  Eames said from somewhere behind them. Maggie turned to see her two favourite men closing in on their table. Eames clapped Joe on the shoulder before taking a seat on the opposite bench.

“I don’t think he believes we’re shagging Eames. Besides I thought Franco liked Matt.” Joe said accepting the small glass of mead from Albert.

“I doubt it, Matt’s openly asexual and Franco is a highly sexual person.” Eames says casually “This is excellent mead Dad.”

Albert toasted his glass with his son’s before he swept down to plant a kiss on Maggie’s lips, she moved her hand to his lapel in an attempt to have him linger in the moment a while longer with her.

“Matt’s ace?” Joe queried.

“Yeah, didn’t you know?” Maggie noted out of the corner of her eye as Eames shifted the bottle further down the table toward him and Joe before losing herself in the continued soft kiss of her husband’s lips. He tasted vaguely of mead at the beeswax lip balm he favoured in cold weather.

“I never asked.” Joe shrugged in response passing his glass across Eames for a top up.

“So I owe you an apology Joey.” Eames said while dutifully filling his friend’s glass.

“Nah you don’t man it’s all good we’re all a little highly strung right now.” Joe attempted to deflect the remark and Maggie’s sudden desire to kick him, lightly, was enough to have her pull away from Albert’s, now lipstick stained, lips.

“Yeah but that’s not your fault. So accept my apology and we can move on.” Eames leant his elbows on the table holding his glass toward Joe until the other man raised his glass to clink together in a toast.

“Pointless apology accepted with good grace. What’s the plan then?” Joe asked sipping a good measure of his new glass of mead. Maggie noted that Albert elected to stay standing beside her rather than take the seat next to Eames. She wondered why before she felt the fingers begin lightly carding through her thick locks. He had noticed her demeanour then.

“I spoke to Cobb told him I had conditions for continuing. I made them slightly outrageous in order to fit the persona he has for me naturally.” Both boys shrug in the same moment before they both laughed in sync. Maggie could see that becoming a little creepy if it continued for long. Long lost sibling theories were fodder for village gossipers and Eastenders not the beer garden of The Mousetrap Inn.

“He agreed to all of them so I said that once he secured Paul as the full time contractor I would sign. Well there was one more condition but that one is dependent on someone else; free will and all that.”

“And what have you decided about Arthur?” Albert asked looking over Maggie’s head in a way which diminished his ability to see the annoyed face she is shooting him. Her glare was noticeably less effective is not observed.

“Well Arthur’s and my relationship is a separate problem; mum pointed that out but I think he should stay on the show and not for entirely selfish reasons. He’s excellent on it; I’m sure we all agree about that but also he’s told me himself how much he enjoys the work; it’s something new and exciting for him. He’s naturally competitive and he’s the best estate agent in America. Oh don’t give me that look Joe I already know I’m biased.”

Joe had raised a single eyebrow in a look very similar to the disparaging ones Maggie had noticed Arthur adopting on the show when Eames’ humour turned blue enough to have even Albert sporting a blush and Maggie knew with a well evidenced certainty that her husband had a distinctly filthy mouth on occasion.

“I don’t want him to leave because I’m a knob.” Eames said while waving his almost empty glass at Joe until his friend dissolved into laughter.

“Well no obviously you don’t but I fail to see how you’re going to manage to convince him.” Albert said it was subtle but Maggie picked up on the slight note of challenge in her husband’s voice. It was a dangerous game to challenge Eames to anything.

“I already did.” Eames said shooting his dad a standard Eamesian grin, cockily jaunty with an odd shift of his eyebrow that Maggie could only describe as a waggle.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Joe asked.

“Through the use of exuberant charm and delicious dirty talk my dear Joseph.”

 Maggie chocked on the mouthful of mead she’d just partaken of. Joe pattered her back kindly while Maggie shook her head in despair. Eames continued with his ridiculous grin but gallantly refilled her glass while doing so.

“On a serious note I believe I wounded his ego, said he’d do anything for money and called him a pet name I know he has a weakness for. In other words I may just be a massive manipulative bastard.”

“You wounded his ego?” Joe asked clearly picking this as the most potentially damaging action. Maggie wondered to herself silently if that meant Arthur was more of a peacock than Eames.

“I inferred that in order for him to win occasionally I would have to let him.” Eames winced slightly as he explained before dropping his head to the table with a sharp thunk that had his father’s face contorting into a wince of his own.

“Ah ha! He’s a competitive bastard Eames you should have remembered that.” Joe grinned while Eames began to steadily knock his head against the wooden table top.

Eames voice was muffled by the table top when he spoke again.

 “I didn’t really think it through before saying it; I just meant that it wouldn’t always be him losing.”

“That’s not really better Eamesie.” Maggie chastised her son lightly as he brought his head up to stare balefully at her. A sweet smile graced his face moment’s later however when he seemed to note the way his father is running his fingers across her shoulder.  So Eames had noticed as well, there was no hiding from these two. Both men had become adept at reading her moods and both were quick enough to provide reassurance when she needed it. She moved her hand to lightly capture her husband’s and still his progress with a light kiss to his finger tips. She didn’t mind his nervous habits but she didn’t want Eames distracted in this moment by her own long buried troubles.

“So we’re heading back to Boston?” Joe asked.

“Well that depends, you don’t owe me anything Joe you should only come back to Boston if you want to, for yourself, I can’t promise you the same excitement you might find in Mombasa or Nairobi you know?”

 Joe glanced quickly at Maggie when she nodded he turned back to Eames. “I dunno I think Boston might have its own excitement to offer besides you’re going to need someone to remind you about gravity.”

“In that case my other condition was securing you a position on the permanent team, you’ll travel with us and also please note that Paul reminds me about gravity not you. I think you keep me vaguely on budget or something, remind me Joe what is it you do?” Eames said.

“I keep Paul from killing you.” Joe reminded him, shaking his glass to indicate his need for a refill. Maggie started to think heading to bed would be a smart idea but she could also see by the look on Albert’s face that he loved witnessing the boy’s interaction.

“Don’t forget Cobb.” Eames sloshed yet more mead into Joe’s glass the pair of them fast on their way to inebriated by now.

“Yep Cobb too and Franco’s been known to consider it.” Joe agreed.

“Nah I can’t believe that Franco fancies me too much to want to kill me.” Eames shook his head his words only slightly slurred.

“Yeah you’re not conceited at all.” Joe said with a laugh.

“Hey it’s not conceited when your ass looks like this.” Eames made an aborted attempt to stand then managing a slight lift before seeming to decide against the action.

Joe chocked on his liquor as he seemed to find Eames failure hilarious.

“Seriously Eames?! Anyway he checks out your arms’ more often.” Joe stared pointedly at the outline of London tattooed on Eames upper arm.

“Ah the boys got a thing for tattoos. That’s adorable.”  Eames said.

“I don’t know how you can say anything about that man is adorable.”  Joe argued.

“Yeah well he hasn’t threatened to shank me while drunk so you know.” Eames mimed his hand’s acting as scales. Seemingly weighing out Franco’s aggression and adorableness.

“Oh God don’t remind me. I’m never taking tequila off him again.” Joe started to laugh, seemingly at nothing.

“A wise move Jo-Jo a wise move indeed.” Eames nodded his head sagely. This Maggie thought was the moment to extradite herself from their ridiculous conversation.

“Well my dear hearts I think I’m heading to bed. Eamesie I think you can assume Joe is going with you but when is your plane?”

“Two day’s Mum I promised Cobb I’d be back before the weekend to sign the contract.”

“Alright then tomorrow we celebrate your new series and our introduction to the lovely Joe.” Joe raised his glass in a mock salute. “I’ll be sure to have coffee ready when you stumble down in the morning loves.” She turned to her husband framing his face in her hands, “Are you coming to bed or staying up to play at being a young man again?”

“As tempting as that is I think I have had enough excitement for one night. Let’s leave these boys to it.” Albert leaned forward until Maggie could feel his breath against her neck “Let us go and be young together instead.”

Maggie giggled lightly and pushed Albert away from the table as he chortled in response.

 “Good night boys.” She called over her shoulder. They both returned it with loud good wishes of their own.

“Those two are ridiculous together.” Albert voice was tinted with amusement as they walked away.

“It’s good to see them happy though; did Hannah handle everything in house alright?” Maggie asked, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for leaving the Inn in their deputy managers hands for one evening but the workload could get a little difficult with a diminished staff.

“Yes sweetheart there were no catastrophes in our absence, I checked in when I came in to find the mead.” Albert reassured her.

“I know but I like to check. She works to hard that girl.”

“We’ll give her some extra holiday next year if you like.” Maggie nodded her agreement before resting her head on Albert’s shoulder.

“Did you trigger this evening? You had that look on your face when I came out.”

“Only slightly, I’m alright Albie no harm done.” Maggie noted as her husband’s fingers began their light journey across her shoulders again he did this sometimes when she had a bad day he soothed his finger across the worst of the scars’ her ex had left her with as if attempting to erase them with his soft touch.

Maggie could never bring herself to mind however. “Albert look at me.”

She turned toward him moving his hand off her shoulder to kiss it lightly. “I healed long ago, you helped me and we built a life together. Such a beautiful life and we have a wonderful son who reminds me of you every day.” She punctuated her sentences with lingering kisses over the palms of his hands; wonderful hands that worked so hard and had held her up so often.

“I have been blessed in the life we have led together and I am so overwhelmingly happy I sometimes fear I may burst from it.” Maggie said before Albert pulled her into the circle of his arms while his frame shook slightly from his light laughter.

“No bursting my love I waited forever for you.” Albert’s voice was muffled slightly by his mouth being pressed into her hair.

“And you saved me.”

“No you saved yourself; I was just honoured to hold your hand.” Albert said.

Maggie smiled at her husband’s words tucked as she was within his arms she felt the tension of the last week melt away from her.

“Then I’m honoured you’ve never dropped it.” Maggie said before she shifted his shirt to the side slightly and pressed a light kiss to the collar bone she exposed, she let her lips explore the smooth expanse of skin that she could reach tilting her head to trail kisses up his neck.

“I never will.” Albert promised.

“Good, you promised me once that we would grow old together. I’m going to hold you to that.” Maggie reminded him before nuzzling his neck again slightly. His preferred aftershave hadn’t changed much over the duration of their relationship and during her pregnancy with Eames when she had been so nauseous she could hardly stand, let alone eat or drink anything, Albert had laid in bed next to her for hours on end letting her inhale the calming scent of his skin mixed with the aftershave. 

“As long as we’re together, I could never want for more.” Albert said.

“I love you Albie.”

“Ah, well I love you more Magpie.”

“Not possible.” Maggie tilted her head up to gently brush her lips against her husband’s. “Let’s go to bed.”


	14. Cabs, Cocktails and Bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Kittens! 
> 
> It is I your absent British provider of random backstories that no-one would think they needed but enough of you do that I keep making post it notes whenever they occur to me.
> 
> This is a short filler chapter really but I had this little idea and decided to run with it.
> 
> I love drunk Eames.
> 
> Just me as i'm at work as is my wonderful beta and I decided to write in my lunch time.
> 
> Ta ta for now
> 
> RMJ xxx

“What’s the plan then?” Eames asked while they waited at the baggage carousel in Logan International Airport. “You going to sweep her off her feet and declare your undying love.” They hadn’t discussed much of anything throughout the journey; Eames had slept brokenly his legs flailing enough that he had woken Joe on four separate occasions.

“I don’t have much of a plan. I don’t know how Harry would react to something like that anyway. She doesn’t seem like the grand declaration type.”

Eames muttered something about the true meaning of romance being dead before jogging off to liberate his bags the second they came through the barrier that separated the waiting masses from their possessions.  Joe’s bag followed ten minutes later caught at the end of the first wave of bags and once again it was Eames that leapt forward to collect it.

“Could you be any more eager to get out of here?” Joe asked exacerbated by Eames non-stop energy.

“Airports make me nervous. The security lot always look at me like I’m a criminal.”

“It’s the tattoos man, that and the fact you look like you could pulverise them with a swing of your fist. It’s not their fault they haven’t realised you’re an over grown puppy.”

Eames glared at him over the trolley. “You’ve got to have a plan man, going into this half cocked is only going to blow up in your face.”

Joe refused to make the snarky comment about Eames managing to blow up his own situation with his whole cock, it was too easy for one thing, and instead settled for handing over his papers to immigration. Sure enough Eames took twice as long to get cleared through the man checking his form seemed determined that he was smuggling something in his luggage. Joe couldn’t see why, for all his explanations he couldn’t really see Eames as some sort of enigmatic master thief or criminal. 

Finally re-entering freedom, a taxi and the cityscape of Boston, seemed to calm Eames jangled nerves he rolled his shoulders and started a continuing commentary about the best bars in Boston for any number of reasons; if you’re looking to get laid, looking for intelligent conversation, looking for great food, looking for a great first date location. He had shot Joe a side glance at the last and commenced poking him in the arm until Joe gave up on staring at his phone hoping it would buzz with a response to the text he had sent Harry before their flight. Something, anything at all, but there was nothing.

“I might not need a plan or date suggestions if she’s too pissed off at me Eames.”

Eames shrugged and recommenced his commentary focusing now on the best bars for catching different sporting events.

It wasn’t that Joe had been expecting more out of him. It was just that ever since his flirtation with Harry had become ‘blindingly obvious’ Eames had been pushing for them, trying to corral Joe into making a move. Suggestions ranged from taking her to coffee or on one slightly drunken evening; _‘You should take her back to your house and tell her to lie back and think of England, and by England you mean your penis.’_ That had been the evening Joe had sworn he would never allow Eames near vodka martinis again; _‘But how will I become as swarve as Bond without martini’s Joey, come on play fair.’_

Apparently playing fair involved scraping your plastered mate off the cocktail bars floor at three in the morning after he fell off the stool he had somehow commandeered; it was the only one surrounding the bar and Joe still didn’t know where Eames had found it. Matt who had accompanied them on the bar crawl had given up two stops before Eames declaring this to be one occasion the British could beat the American’s; _‘that’s not even true because you’re half Canadian!’_ Eames had yelled after him as Joe had poured a slightly more sober Matt into the back of a cab.  

“What do you think I should do?” Joe asked.

Eames answered without meeting Joe’s eyes. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask Joe.”

“Come on man anything at all?”

“Well, look, you need to stop staring at your phone for one thing, if she texts, she texts, if not well that’s her decision isn’t it. It was your decision to leave the country and now you’re back it’s her decision how to deal with that.”

“Should I call her, try texting her again?”

“No, give her the space. If she hasn’t answered by tomorrow maybe you could send her an email and let her know you landed safely and where you’re staying but you can’t force it Joe, you can’t force him to forgive you.”

Joe caught the slip up and glanced across to Eames to see if the man caught it as well but he doesn’t seem to have. Joe had lost him to deeper thoughts clearly and whatever they were they had Eames slumping in his seat fingers drumming on the window lining.

“You’re right, I can’t just harass her. Time is a good thing, it heals as well as providing enough space for someone to see clearly again.” Joe tried to infuse as much certainty in his pronouncement as possible. Eames didn’t answer and they sat in silence for the rest of the journey. Eames turned to wave before walking into his apartment building but it just looked dejected to Joe, he wished there was something he could do for the man but as Maggie had said Eames needed to solve this one himself. Just like Joe. It was time to play the waiting game. Joe just hoped he had the patience for it.  


	15. Californian Wilderness Has No Wi-Fi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update of the day, this chapter is a little ridiculous but i'm having fun! 
> 
> Smooches RMJ X

Joe started and stopped his email seven times before his mother forcibly removed the laptop and pushed the plate of rapidly cooling Chinese food into his now empty hands.

“You need to eat Joseph staring at the screen isn’t going to make the words appear.”

“I know I just don’t know what to say to her.” His mother sighed and used her chopsticks to place three more spring rolls on his plate.

“Eat your dinner. I swear this is worse than when you were a teenager. Do you remember the time you came home and told me you were madly in love with Peggy, next door’s eldest daughter, and you were desperate for her to notice you?” Joe nodded grinning fondly at the memory. “Do you remember what I told you? Well I’ll tell you the same now. Joseph there’s nothing in this world that can make a girl like you more than respect, a good nature and your sense of humour. You’re lucky, you inherited more of my nature than your father’s and it’s served you well. How long has it been since you were in love with a woman Joe?”

Joe shrugged, he wasn’t really certain he had ever loved someone the way he thought he could love Harry. There was so much potential there, so much he hadn’t experienced yet. He wanted to try at romance, at sharing his life with someone he cared about.

“There’s a lot more to it than I think you appreciate. The last man I dated, oh don’t look at me like that I’m fifty I’m not over the hill, I get plenty of interest on the website and I’ve met some nice men.” Joe was choking on his egg fried rice and his mother gave him a look that described just how pitiful she thought he was in this moment.

“As I was saying the last man I dated he was called Henry and he was pleasant enough but the only thing he could commit to was his dog and I’ve had enough experience of unavailable men that I knew to ditch him. Do you see what I’m trying to tell you?”

Joe considered “That I have commitment issues or possibly that you think I should buy a dog.” He earned a slap over the head for his cheek.

“I think you’ve been alone for a very long time and that the idea of having to answer to someone else worries you. I can understand that, after I left your father it took me a long time to even think about dating again and even longer to consider committing to another person but it can be worth it Joe. If they’re the right person, which you seem to say Harriet is, than it can be wonderful.” She cupped his face fondly. “Now eat your dinner.”

Three hours later Joe was woken from by a frankly alarming buzzing noise. He then almost fell out of bed as he discovered it was his mobile making its way with alarming speed to the edge of his bedside table. Joe managed to grab it part way through its descent.

“H’lo?” Joe realised once he had answered that his voice was muffled by the pillow he couldn’t seem to drag his face off. God he hated jet lag.

The feminine laugh coming from the other end made him sit up however.

“Hello yourself Jo-Jo, sorry I didn’t think about the time difference and my signal is terrible.”

“Harry? Wait no don’t apologise it doesn’t matter. Time difference? Where are you? Did you go to England too? I just came from there I think it might kill me to go back so soon.” Joe muttered trying to fight the fatigue that was dragging at him and making him sound, and feel, like his mouth was made of cotton wool.

Harry laughed again. “No Joe I’m in California you’re three hours ahead. How was your trip?”

“It was alright, Eames couldn’t sit still though.”

“That really shouldn’t surprise you anymore; he’s not good at keeping still for any length of time.”

“Very true.”

Joe rubbed his palms against his face roughly trying to dislodge whatever was still making his brain slow.

“I got your text Joe.”

“I, okay, good. Or no. Was it bad?”

Joe heard Harry take a deep breath and braced himself for the ‘you’re too late’, ‘I’ve moved on’, ‘I never really liked you anyway’ speech and that was just bollocks.

“I thought it was good, very good, I’m very glad you’re back.”

“I, okay, good. So…”

“So…what?” Harry asked.

“Well, I don’t know, I mean I was hoping we could. If you wanted to. God damn it this is so hard on no sleep.”

Harry’s tone seemed to suggest she took a great deal of pleasure in teasing him “Well it’s not as if you’re the most verbose man when you’re fully rested sweet thing.” That was interesting.

“Did you just call me sweet thing?”

“Maybe. Why? Does it bother you?”

“No, no! Not at all. I just can’t, currently, think of a witty rejoinder. You have the advantage.”

“Oooh promises promises Joseph. You should ask me you know.”

“Ask you?”

“Yes, you wanted to early. I’m just saying that if you maybe wanted to ask me now I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh right. But no, I had things I wanted to say. I wanted you to understand some things before.”

“Joe stop, look just answer these questions alright.”

“Okay.”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes, Harry, yes I like you a great deal, I,”

“No don’t say it. Hold on alright. Second question are you staying, in Boston, for the considerable future?”

“Yes I had planned on; Cobb is helping me get a Visa sorted.”

“Excellent. That’s all I needed. I don’t want big declarations Joe, you don’t owe me that and I don’t think we’re at the point where they would be sensible and I want to be sensible, as sensible as the two of us can be anyway.”

“What do you mean? Sensible?” He immediately thought of those insane rules of dating his first girlfriend had tried to teach him. He had to wait a certain amount of time before calling her and god help him if there wasn’t a text message for her before school.

“Well I was thinking something traditional.” Yep he was going to be terrible at this.” But I really think you should ask me, if you want?”

“If I want, I should just ask you.”

“Yes.”

“I, alright, Harry would you like to get dinner with me?”

“Get dinner with you? That wasn’t very romantic Joey.” She teased again.

“Oh come on I’ve had no sleep.” They both giggled with Joe muffling his in the hopes of not waking his mother.

“God I feel like a bloody teenager again.” Joe said, the nerves were back, the whispered phone calls, now wonder his mind had drifted back to Hannah and the bullet pointed list she had presented him with during their second week as boyfriend and girlfriend, fourteen was a difficult age.

“What why?” Harry asked.

“I’m sitting here muffling any noise I’m making so I don’t disturb my mother.”

“Aww Sweet cheeks what am I going to do with you?”

“You could start by going to dinner with me.”

“I dunno, that’s a big first date. I’m not sure my Dad will let me out past curfew to see a boy.”

“Christ Harriet, alright something smaller, coffee, that’s surely appropriate.” Joe said playing along.

Harriet made humming noises as if taking her time to consider her offers. “I dunno. Make it a sweeter offer.”

“Bloody hell, alright coffee and dessert.”

“Oh very literal Joey I love it when you do that. Alright coffee and dessert but you’re paying. Oh and it has to be some place with cheesecake, I swear I can’t find a good cheesecake place over here.”

“ Alright a place with cheesecake.” Joe said grinning, alright so perhaps that had been easy than it was at fourteen, this is what he got for not dating in five years. “I think Boston can manage that. When are you back?”

“Not for a week yet, Dad insisted the business out apparently needed my input but I swear a company camping trip was never mentioned. We’re in the Californian wilderness doing team building exercises.”

“Does California even have a wilderness?”

“I dunno how to hell I would describe it. The stars are pretty though.”

“Not as pretty as you.” Joe said and then cringed because it had sounded a great deal smoother in his mind.

“Oh my, that was so cheesy Joey.”

“I am thoroughly ashamed.”

“You better be, you going back to sleep now?”

“I probably should if I want even a small chance of feeling like a human being tomorrow.”

“Awww poor baby.”

“Your flirting technique needs work Harry my dear.”

“Oh you love it really.”

“I do.”

“Good. Go to sleep. I’m going to see if I can find a data connection I can’t even get on Live Journal out here.”

“Wow how are you coping without the internet?”

“Very badly, I snuck away from the camp site today and walked to the nearest diner with Wi-Fi. You should check Twitter by the way they just announced the new series.”

“Wow Dom worked quickly.” Joe said

“He tagged the boys in it but Eames hasn’t responded and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Arthur use his for more than complaining about the line at the coffee shop.”

“Yeah he hates queues. I’m surprised people don’t get out of his way what with the suit and the glare.”

“Oh yes the glare. I don’t find it off putting.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m just going to lie down now but keep talking. I like your voice.”

“Do you indeed? What would you like me to say?”

“Anything you like? Tell me about your latest story?”

“Seriously?” Harry asked.

“Yes. Tell me. Which one were you working on? The Star Trek?”

“No, no I started a new one while you were away.”

“What’s it about?”

“It might be about Captain America.”

“Alright tell me everything. I’m comfortable.”

“Okay well it’s an AU and, well, it involves werewolves…”


	16. Lovely In The Eyes Of The Beholder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Eames, Eamesie, Eamesie, Eamesie what are we going to do with you...Arthur has some ideas.

“Hello Darling”

Filming was underway for the second series of Love It or List It and Eames had never been more sexually frustrated than he was now. Arthur seemed to have used the hiatus to become more irresistible; the suits were tighter, the hair was slicker and the glare had more heat behind it than ever before. If it were humanly possible Eames is certain he would have spontaneously combusted by now.  

“Don’t call me that Mr. Eames.”

“Come now Arthur there’s no need for such formality.” There it was again, that glare, a glare which somehow said you are a piece of shit and damn it I want you all at once. Eames was going crazy. All he wanted was to reach out and touch him or to drop down to his knees and worship Arthur like the fashionista god he was and he would have if he hadn’t also been certain said actions would have resulted in a knee to the groin and a restraining order. He had hurt Arthur, and badly, it was a form of sadistic self flagellation working opposite him every week and allowing himself to fall just a little more in love with each day that passed.

“There is every need for it Mr. Eames.” Arthur snarled his last name and damn it if that didn’t make Eames dick stand to attention.

“Cobb let’s get this show on the road some of us have lives.” Eames watched Arthur march toward their producer with fire in his eyes and a sway in his hips. That ass was the things Eames fantasies were made of, or they would be if every time Arthur featured in them he didn’t end up garrotting Eames with a shoelace. Apparently even his subconscious was pissed at him, not that he blamed it.

“Okay down boy.” Harry walked into his direct eye line effectively blocking Arthur from his view. “You look about ready to jump someone.”

“I am. God Harry I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Eames I mean this with all the love and affection I have for you but you’ve got to get a grip. You’re freaking out everyone. Even Joe and that should be impossible.”

“Yeah I mean he puts up with you so.” Harry slapped him over the head. “Okay yeah that was unnecessary sorry. “

“I swear the pair of you are behaving like adolescents right now. What happened? Did running home to England fuck with your brains?” Harry asked her head tilted as if she were scanning him for some grand change in his body. She wouldn’t find any. Well he was a little thinner but nothing that would account for his messed up head.

“By pair of us do you mean me and Joe or are you including my Vitruvian Man over there.” Eames pointed in Arthur’s vague direction.

“I mean you and Joe. Arthur has every right to be pissed off. By all accounts you fucked him over Eames.”

“Is this where you give me the ‘you made your bed now lie in it’ speech because I have to be honest I’ve heard it before.”

“No for God sake. When did you become such a little bitch Eames? No this is the you need to pull your head out your ass and find your fucking personality again because if you don’t you’re going to end up with no bloody friends.”

 She was right, he knew she was but it didn’t make it any easier. He had spent the entire week trying to think of a way to get Arthur alone, to get him in a room some place so he could explain himself so he could make this better but Arthur was having none of it. The second Eames approached him Arthur was flitting out of whatever room they were in and when that didn’t work he was suddenly having a very detailed conversation with Maria, their hair, makeup and wardrobe lady about the latest coat he wanted to bring in for his collection or did she think this shade of periwinkle would go with his eyes; apparently yes but only with the right suit.

“I just, I don’t know what to do Harry he won’t let me anywhere near him. It’s like he hates me now.”

“Maybe he does a little but with time that would probably pass, you know, if you let him breath and stop following him round like a lost puppy with it’s tail between its’ legs’.”  Eames clearly hadn’t perfected not looking pathetic yet.

“I just hate that I hurt him Harry.”

 He finds himself rather surprised when she wraps her arms around his shoulders’; she’s a short woman so he stoops to let her keep her feet on the ground. She smelt a bit like summer does in England; like strawberries, honey and flowers, no wonder Joe was crazy about her Eames thought she smelt just like home. He let himself bathe in the residual heat and affection pouring off her and closed his eyes. When she let him go he wished he hadn’t however because when he met Arthur’s eyes he saw a flash of betrayal before he reemployed his stony faced mask.

“Eames come over for dinner tomorrow yeah? Joe’s cooking and I’m meeting his mother. It would be nice to have a friendly face there to keep me from having a panic attack.” Harry had clearly noticed Arthur as well but given that she wasn’t in love with the man she was able to brush it off like nothing.

“Yes, of course I will, thanks Harry.”

“Alright everyone let’s get this walkthrough underway. Eames you and Arthur need to start off outside so someone needs to take this umbrella as it’s raining.” Cobb looked between the two of them; noted Arthur’s furious glare and handed the umbrella to Eames muttering a good luck under his breath. Things must be bad if even Cobb had picked up on the tension.

“Come along then Arthur let us brave the rain together. Come stand close to me so your beautiful coat doesn’t get damp hmmm.” He threw Arthur what he hoped was a winning smile.

“If we could do this without talking Mr. Eames I would greatly appreciate it.” Arthur strode out of the door his navy blue double breasted Lanvin coat flying out behind him; it was possible Eames had started following the Arthur Appreciation Blogs on Tumblr.

“Arthur,” Eames started as the door closed behind them “Arthur I just wanted to say that…”

“Eames I swear that if you try talking to me right now I will shove my shoe so far up your ass that you won’t be sitting properly for a week. Now please, shut up so we can get through this fucking day and I can go home.” Arthur snapped and after a sigh Eames listened.


	17. Who da Man?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's perspective. First house of season 2. Love it or List it does the impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brand new perspective, some new characters and some ridiculous behaviour from our boys.

The first house they worked on was in a sorry state. On a plot of land in the middle of suburbia it had been bought by a couple who thought they would have a go and fixing up a property and selling it on for a tidy profit.

The only problem with their plan was that they had unknowingly bought a money pit. The area was good there was no denying; great schools, parks and a crime rating which would have impressed any former police officer but Paul was unhappy. They had been given a budget as they always were. That budget was as pathetic as they always were and he was now walking around a property which should by all rights be torn down and he had been blessed with a more wayward designer than usual.

“So they want this floor of the house to be open plan; we just need to knock the walls down and figure out the windows…and the doors…does anyone else smell damp?” Harry had volunteered to do the design walkthrough, this had traditionally been Eames job but the man had traipsed off somewhere, after yelling at Joe and Matt, to have a cigarette and hopefully consult whatever muse he had that made these jobs come out perfectly.

“I smell damp, I smell mould and frankly I smell a property that needs burning to the ground. How’s that for a theme, arson. We’ll call it ambient lighting. Where the ambience we want to create is hell. I’m picturing giant fire pits and lots of circles” Franco chimed in. He was doing a circuit of the unspecified room they were standing in kicking the shell of the house until the plaster came off the wall. 

“From the warping I think the joists might be buckling, are we looking at a timber frame Harry?” Matt called through from what had been the kitchen.

“Yes timber and I would also like to inform you all that the flooring you’re all standing on,” every member of the construction team looked down, “is starting to rot. So anyone over twelve stone is advised to be careful where they step.” The majority of his men started hedging their ways’ toward the edges of the room. Flora his deputy turned to him with mutiny in her eyes’.

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

“I agree.”

“No seriously Paul, this place is a hazard. Why the fuck are we even here? Tear the bloody place down and start again. There is nothing for us to do with this. If I jumped up and down right now would I go through the floor Harry?”

“Yeah let’s maybe not do that hun, a dead team leader is the last thing we need.” Harry muttered moving away from the nearest wall when it made a potentially terrifying noise.

“No what we need is a workable property. How long do we even have to do this?”

“Four weeks.” Joe answered.

“We have a month and what’s our budget?”  Flora asked.

“$100’000.”  Harry answered.

The mutinous mutterings got louder as did the glare Flora pierced him with.

“If you even think about telling me we can do this I will shoot a nail through your foot, Paul so help me I will finally do it, where the hell is Eames?!” Flora shouted at no one in particular.

“Outside,” Matt answered he had just pulled open the back door and had the entire slab of plywood fall toward him. “He’s pacing.”

“What kind of pacing?” Joe asked, the fact the entire team held their breath was a sign, Paul thought, that they had perhaps worked together for too long.

“There’s smoking involved.”

“What about gesticulating?” Harry asked. Matt having given up on fixing the door and leaned it against the wall looked through the rusting screen door.

“Yeah we’ve got plenty of that.” The team hissed in misery. “Oh and he’s just started punching the air.”

“Punching the air?” Flora asked.

“Yep it’s like he’s in a boxing match with, well, no one.”

“Bloody hell” Paul muttered running his hand across his jaw “Alright I’m calling Dom.”

He pushed out the screen door and into the back yard; the screen door squealed like a pig in labour and the ominous sinking of the decks floorboards made him want to reassess his life choices in leaving the New York Police Force and moving to Boston in the hopes of a quieter life. Why the hell did he think construction would be quiet?

Dom answered on the third ring; “What’s wrong with your one?”

Not a traditional greeting Paul would argue but still, “What do you mean what’s wrong with my one?”

“Yusuf just called to inform me Arthur threatened to walk because the couple were being and I’m quoting here; ‘As stupid as two fucking cows going down a fucking river heading toward a fucking waterfall and fucking disagreeing about how to best fucking save themselves. They should get a fucking divorce and leave the rest of the fucking world alone.’”

“Yeah so that’s a great deal of swearing.”

“I know and Arthur’s supposed to be the good one! So I ask again. What’s wrong with your one?”

“Well at this particular moment he’s yelling at the wind and trying to beat it up.”

Dom yelled for an indeterminate amount of time about how he hated television stars, how all he ever wanted was to design buildings and why was no one letting him do what he wanted anymore. 

Eventually Paul had been gone long enough that more of the design team had come to join him on the deck steps. Joe winced in sympathy at the amount of noise Dom was making over the telephone and Harry patted his leg when she settled on the step beneath Joe’s and slotted herself between his legs resting her back against his chest.

All three of them raised their heads and admired the interesting shapes the threatening rain clouds were making while Dom continued his melt down and Eames continued going ten rounds with thin air.

“Who do you think is winning?” Matt asked when he too joined them. Franco got his fancy silk shirt caught in the rusted door and whinged until Matt got up to help free him.

“Well it depends on which battle we’re talking about,” Joe whispered, “In the ongoing Eames vs. Wind bare knuckle grudge match I think wind has the advantage. It’s certainly showing no signs of slowing down. If you are instead referring to the battle between Cobb and the television industry, again I would give the advantage to television; Cobb is one man and a short angry one at that. If we’re discussing this round of Love It or List It I would put my money on Arthur.” Paul took a moment to impart his newly learned Arthur gossip and the entire team winced. “In the bigger picture if we’re talking about the entire production, design, talent and welfare team of this entire operation verses common sense, contentment and sanity I have to admit I would bet against us. In fact I would give you really good odds because by my reckoning the majority of us are nearing meltdown.”

From inside the house there was an ominous creaking followed by a subtle crunching and the worrying sound of a wall giving way.

“Paul!” Flora screeched from inside. Joe sighed deeply before getting up to direct his troops.

“Matt, go and deal with that.” Joe directed and Paul watched, envious of the obedience the man displayed, as Matt bounded off to do Joe’s bidding.

Dom seemed to be coming to the end of his tirade, “All I ever wanted was for my father to appreciate my vision but nooo it was always, My Parisian students can do this and isn’t the world a much more beautiful place because Danielle got her dream and built this skyscraper? Dom why can’t you be more like your sister? Why did you move to America? Why are you throwing all of your education away on producing? I was never good enough for him. Never.”

“Does everyone involved in this show have Daddy issues?” Harry muttered and Joe chuckled above her.

“Nope Eames parents are lovely, his Dad is a massive softy.” Joe said conversationally as they all listened to the combination of Flora and Dom yelling.

“Good relationship?” Paul asked vaguely interested in anything that wasn’t someone having a meltdown.

“Yeah seemed to be.” Joe agreed. Over the wind they heard what sounded like obscure paint names being shouted into the air.

“Is he screaming about colours now?” Franco asked.

Everyone nodded in unison to confirm Franco’s suspicions.

“He’s got to stop eventually right?” Harry asked as they heard Eames scream about ‘periwinkle blue’ of all things.

“Either that or run out of colours.” Paul answered, he couldn’t decide if he was being serious or not anymore. Joe was right this entire venture had gone round the bend.

“Alright I’ve had enough, Paul pass me the phone.” Joe demanded holding out his hand. He was pretty certain he heard Harry mutter something about how she loved it when Joe took charge and that right there conjured mental images Paul had never needed in his mind. 

He handed across the phone and watched as Joe tore Dom a new one for giving them an impossible project and start making demands like he had the first clue what he was talking about which for all Paul knew he did because who the hell knew where Joe had come from.

In the end they got more manpower and a more lenient budget, how Joe managed the budget bit even Dom would deny to knowing but all it took him was one phone call to the owners and an explanation of the reality of their situation and they were granted an extra fifty thousand.

“Alright,” Joe started, flinging back Paul’s phone one handed, “first off ‘who da man?’” There was a chorus of ‘you da man.’ From the assembled masses, “secondly we have our budget. Flora can we do the structure now?”

“Barely” She answered, but she was smiling which counted for a great deal with Flora.

“Okay so we need estimates and we need people. Paul is that you?”

“Yeah I can get people.”

“Alright that just leaves us with the final piece of the puzzle. Eames.”

Who had at least stopped yelling and punching the air.

“So you’re going to go and speak to him?” Flora asked.

“Nope” Joe said popping the p loudly.

“What?” asked a good number of the construction crew.

“It’s not my job.” Joe said grinning at Harry.

“I hate you all; all three of you are dicks.”

“Yes but you drew the short straw my dear which means he is all yours.” Franco said leaning against the rotten wooden banister, that was going to do nothing for his shirt Paul thought.

“I seriously hate you.” Harry said.

“What are you guys talking about?” Paul asked.

“Well Eames, we can all agree, has been a bit of a knob recently”  Joe explained, there was a scattering of muttered agreements, even Matt was nodding vigorously, “and as such we on the Eames team decided the most diplomatic way of deciding which of us would act as ‘The Wild Eamesian Wrangler’ was to draw straws. Harry lost.” Joe said pointing at the pouting woman.

“Bad luck Harry.” Paul said with a grin gesturing the woman to the sulking designer.

“Seriously I hate you all, even you Paul. You are now on my list.” Harry wandered toward Eames having a mostly yelled discussion about coming inside because he had been dramatic enough.

Whatever she said seemed to work because half an hour into Paul and Flora devising a plan of attack with Joe and Matt Eames appeared, accompanied by a somewhat wet Harry, and started wandering through rooms dreaming up themes and specific details that would at the last minute come together and something cohesive and beautiful Paul hoped.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Matt asked.

“Joe isn’t the only one with wizard powers babe.” Harry answered. Joe flung and arm around her shoulder drawing her in to plant a kiss on her head but winced slightly when he was met with freezing hair.

“Baby why are you all wet?”

“A question for the ages Joey a question for the ages.” She answered pressing closer to him, “Now boys, and Flora, what am I getting to play with?”

***

They had not won the challenge, of course they hadn’t, they had to build an entire house and in the end dealt with a rat infestation but Eames still pulled something out of his magic hat and the house was complete and liveable. It was also saleable which in the end was what the owners wanted.

“I swear we’re never doing something like that again.” Paul said the evening of the final viewing. He was sprawled across his own deck head resting on the woven rug his brother had brought him back from Peru last year.

“Who are you kidding?” Flora asked leaning over the edge of his lightly swaying hammock, “It’s Eames and Dom of course we fucking are. They’re as mad as a box of badgers.”

“A box of badgers? Where the hell do you get these sayings?!”  Paul asked agog at the workings of the woman’s mind.

“The stars themselves sing them to me while I sleep…”

“Flora?”

“Yes?”

“Did you happen to finish the last of that wine.”

A large belch followed by a giggle was his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So maybe I was watching The West Wing today. *giggle*


	18. Wires in the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're 5 challenges into Season 2 and Eames is losing. He takes this badly. 
> 
> Oh and beware...something evil this way comes.

It took three episodes for Eames to start acting normally again and a further two until he started to care about winning.

“Come on Joe we’re half way through the season and we’re trailing two to three!”

“Whose fault is that?” Joe asked as he tried to balance the building plans Paul and Flora had dropped off before going to source materials with Franco, Terry and Phil.

“There could be an argument that it was mine but that argument would discount my extreme emotional distress, I am now as you can see completely fine.”

“Completely fine?” Joe asked mildly incensed “Dude you called me at three a.m. yesterday because you absolutely had to have the duck egg material on the curtains in the lounge and would I please wake Harry up and tell her maroon simply wasn’t going to work anymore.”

“I did most of that before!” Eames hesitated part way into flinging his arms into the air with disgust, “What’s your point anyway?”

“My point is that you should never, and I mean NEVER, suggest waking up Harry in the middle of the night again! I got kicked out of bed Eames; I had to sleep downstairs with her Grandmother’s Cocker Spaniel Felicity.”

Eames held his breath trying to stave off his chuckle.

“Don’t you dare laugh Eames I will kick your arse if you so much as giggle.”

Eames chose to poorly disguise his mirth with a coughing fit instead; a wise move, Joe would seriously have considered taking him outside and unleashing his ill rested fury upon his best friend’s body.

The bloody animal had woken him six times before he had simply given up on the concept of sleep and taken the hell- beast for a walk around the block. It had been snoozing happily on the sofa when Joe had been forced to surrender his truck keys to Harry, who had worn a poorly disguised smirk throughout the entirety of breakfast, so they could make it to the building site in one piece.

“I’m sorry mate.” Joe clearly looked as doubtful as he felt “No really I am but honestly the duck egg is much nicer than the couple’s original choice isn’t it?” Joe stared down at what were to him two identical material swatches; he had tried explaining this to Harry and had been informed he had the design palette of an ape, which suited Joe fine as his job consisted of zero design and a hell of a lot of everything else.

Eames had slapped him on the back during the second episode and thrust a hard hat at him which had ‘Project Manager’ printed in glitter glue; Harry’s idea of a joke, and been informed he had been given a promotion. Said promotion consisted of Joe doing exactly the same job for slightly more money and for much longer hours. As it turned out being project manager of a team consisting in the majority of artists involved a great deal of saying no, desperately pleading with them to stay on budget and having to answer the phone every time Dom called to ‘Check In’.

“Joe!” Matt called from what they were converting into the downstairs living space; if one more couple demanded open plan living with plenty of clean lines and chrome but with a vaguely cosy feel he might actually tear what little hair he had out of its follicles. “Joe!”

“Yes, Matt what?” Joe asked at a normal volume because he wasn’t a bloody diva.

“You might want to come in here…” Matt called back ominously. Of course the second Eames sniffed out potential folly he bounced off to investigate leaving Joe to trail behind walkie-talkie already in hand.

“Jesus Christ.” Joe muttered; the entire left wall, the one they were knocking down, was hollow and filled with. “Are those cut wires?”

“Yep.” Matt said popping the last letter as always. All three of them stood still for a moment simply staring at the mess of electrical wire, tape and what look suspiciously like chewing gum. They were clearly looking at this episodes major road bump.

“Is it connected to anything?” Eames asked turning his head so he could look straight up through the cavity as if his eyes were going to discern anything of interest in the light he had.

“I’m not sure.” Matt answered staring hard at the offending objects with his hands on his hips “It’s a mystery Scooby.”

“I, just, what?” Joe asked his head already running through the probable affect this would have on his estimates and their budget. “How did we not know this was here?!” His panic was rising considerably as he came to realise quite how much a professional electrician would call them for a call out.

The wiring wasn’t supposed to be an issue; they weren’t moving any sockets or light fixtures. Matt was sourcing them some new products but overall Eames had been happy with the amount of light and the ability to place things like the television within his unified design.  

“I dunno, it’s nowhere on the plans. The owners have never done anything with the structure and most of these wires seem pretty old.” Matt answered.

“Yeah, Joe look some of them have even been nibbled by mice.” Eames said reaching out for one of the wires.

“What the fuck Eames don’t touch it.” Joe said jumping forward and hoisting Eames out of the wall cavity by his belt buckle; Images of him having to explain to a devastated set of Eames’s about the untimely death of their son on his watch flashed through his head.

“Joe calm down.” Eames said shaking of Joe’s somewhat clinging hands.

“Calm down?! You could have been electrocuted.”

“No I couldn’t.” Eames said calmly brushing lint of his jumper’s sleeve.

“Yes you could it was a fucking electrical wire Eames and we don’t know which of them is live!”

“Yes we do. None of them are live.” Matt said defensively, “Do you really think I’d let him wedge himself in there with live wires?”

“Hey.” Eames whined.

“What are you talking about?” Joe snapped.

“The electric is off Joe. While we figure out the structural situation and test the water.” Matt explained calmly. Joe had known that, he really had, Paul had told him four times, Harry had complained even.

“Can I just say that I find it offensive that neither of you trust me with live wires.” Eames groused.

“No you can’t” Joe snapped, “In the last house you wanted to know why we couldn’t try your bloody floating table idea again and the answer was still GRAVITY!” Eames glared at Joe before stomping off complaining the whole way about bloody physics and bastard project managers. Joe swore this job was going to kill him.

He looked up and Matt was grinning at him broadly.

 “Hey.” Matt said smugly.

“Hey.” Joe answered warily.

“So…trouble in paradise?” Matt flicked his finger between the doors Eames had just left through and Joe’s chest.

“No, it’s just he’s at that stage you know.”

“…teenager…”

“No, he’s just at that point in his process where he’s a little unreasonable.”

“Ah, he’s making demands.” Matt said turning back to his wall and considering the wires he could see as well as the possibility that there existed some he could not.

“Yes.” Joe said simply.

“And you haven’t been able to drag him back to reality yet?” Matt asked sympathetically.

“Nah, he’s desperate to win this time and I don’t think he got much of a read off the couple so his own imagination is running wild. He keeps talking about an indoor garden; wouldn’t it be magical if you could bring the beauty of outdoors indoors.”

“And you’re left being the one to tell him no?”

“When it’s structural or to do with practicalities or even safety it’s Paul and you know that’s fine because at the end of the day Eames is a ridiculously intelligent man who knows everything Paul is telling him is true and he knows what he can do and can’t. But when Paul passes because in reality it is possible to do what Eames wants it’s up to me to tell him what’s reasonable. It’s not our money we’re playing with here it’s a customers.”

“And that’s your role, you represent the customer?”

“Pretty much. Eames acts like I’m stifling him and honestly I think I am. He’s a bloody genius with all of this and I just want to tell him to run fucking wild and do whatever he wants because it will always come together in the end and it would always be magical.”

“But…?” Matt prompted.

“But we would end up spending the entire budget on one room and then Eames would be terribly upset because honestly he wants to give everyone the perfect home, I know we all do, but his mind works against his practicality on that.”

“Is that what you really think?” Eames asked from the doorway. At what point he had turned up Joe didn’t know but from Matt’s stifled grin the bastard had known the entire time.

“Do I really think what Eames?”

“That I’m a genius but you’re stifling me?”

“Yes. I honestly think that and I have to say it’s bloody shit.” Joe admitted.

Eames grinned, “Yeah it’s shit from over here too but you do a great job Joe and you get us from point A to point B even if you have to drag us kicking and screaming we get there.”

“You would get there without me.” Joe pointed out because to his mind it was true, he wasn’t really needed here.

“That’s not true man, you keep half of this lot sane and you drag me back to reality when you need to and only when you need to, do you not think I realise you let me run wild sometimes, but you make the rooms I dream about practical and that’s what I need right now.”

“You could do that yourself.” Joe pointed out because Eames had. Eames had worked alone on numerous occasions.

“Not right now I can’t, right now I’m not at my best and that means I’m over compensating. I’m over compensating because these people deserve something incredible and just because I’ve fucked up my own life doesn’t mean I want anyone else to suffer. I’m dreaming bigger Joe because that’s what I have right now; I have the crazy, massive dreams because I can lose myself in them.” Eames stated as if what he said wasn’t heart breaking. As if you couldn’t see every slither of pain he was feeling when Arthur walked through his rooms and repressed every smile and kind comment. As if Joe didn’t go home at night and curl up with Harry and feel incredibly guilty for the chance he got while Eames suffered.

“Eames.” Joe started. Even Matt had fallen silent. The constant rattling of electrical equipment had been abandoned in respect of Eames obvious pain, “You’re hurting Eames and yet you’re creating incredible things you should be so proud of that.”

“It’s not my best.” Eames said honestly and he was right, his rooms were still beautiful; they still shone with love and ingenious creativity but they had also started reflecting less and less of the people taking part on the show and more of Eames.

“Maybe it doesn’t need to be, even when it’s not your best it’s wonderful and the people love it. You’re giving them things they could never have dreamed of on their own. You made that one little girl’s room into the solar system Eames.” She had been delighted lying on her floor with Eames beside her the pair of them admiring the incredible detail Eames and Harry had gone into with the mural of the Milky Way on the ceiling.

“Yeah but that was easy, it’s easy to enchant children because their minds are open to everything. Adults are cynical.” Eames pointed out.

“You enchant plenty of adults Eames.”

“On a good day yes, on a good day I can pull off the magic trick and convince them that what I have created is exactly what they have always dreamed of even if a week later, after all the cameras and glamour is gone, they realise it’s entirely impractical for their lifestyle and they hate all of the colours and patterns we’ve chosen. For those few minutes, while I sell them this house we create, they see the faultless veneer. It’s the perfect con because it’s a con where no one knows they’re being conned until it’s too late. Designers like me, we get into our client minds’ and we give them the seed of the idea. They end up demanding whatever design we intend to create, a design they would never have thought of and that’s because the thought never came from them, it came from us, but the client will never know not until it’s too late and we’re already gone. Do you know why?”

“No why?” Joe asked slightly mesmerised by the cool confidence Eames carried.

“Because on a high-quality day. On my very best day. I am just that good.”  Eames said with a smirk.

Matt laughed from behind Joe and Eames tilted at the waist to send a wink straight at him.

“You’re a fucking knob head Eames.” Joe said shaking his head.

“Yeah but what would you do without me, can you imagine how dull your life would be without my delightful mug in it every day?”

“I can actually.”

“How does it look?”

“Fucking peaceful.”

“And?”

“Just a bit shit.”

“Good man. Now then we’ve got three weeks to win this challenge and we are going to succeed because I refuse to lose to that jumped up, obnoxious, Grecian statue of a man for one more week.”

“Eames.” Joe sighed as Eames spun out of the room towards their planning area.

“What can I say Joey. Arthur’s the fucking best.” Eames shouted from behind the temporary wall.

***

And so started a meme, every time they were introduced to a new couple and Arthur started his spiel about ‘when it was time to grow up it was time to grow out’, which had been written for him by the short lived original script writer, Eames would follow up with ‘Well Arthur is the best but…’.

it was always something relevant to the programme and it never came across as overtly cruel but every time Arthur would scowl and Eames would grin at him like he was the most adorable human being on the planet and the couple would look at each other confused because all of a sudden there was this crazy tension and their designer was looking at the realtor like he wanted to rip his clothes off, which he did, and the realtor was looking at the designer as if disembowelment would be a too quick death for the weekly torture that working with Eames involved.

The animosity combined with the insane chemistry made the pair a roaring hit and the internet went wild with speculation and gossip. The programme developed a deeper fan following and Harry was leading the charge with their representation across social media.

Rumours about the two men continued until a fan photographed Arthur having lunch with a handsome man. The internet following was viciously disappointed; Arthur had been seen hugging this handsome stranger and walking with him, dining with him on several occasions and they took it to mean he was off the market.

None of this of course matched up to Eames reaction. Harry had been panicked since finding the photographs that Eames would enter some deep period of depression, flinging black paint around their projects or filling his apartment with cats. He did neither. No what Eames did was worse on some levels. In fact to Joe’s mind it was worse on every level because what Eames did was started having a string of one night stands, harmless one would imagine, until at one charity benefit Eames met Alec Hart.

Designer, fedora wearing, Devil spawn Alec Hart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Darth Vader music plays in the background*


	19. Polkadot Ascot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised he wouldn't have many lines and he doesn't. 
> 
> Alec Hart: First Encounters of the Strange Kind.

The chronicle of Alec and Eames occurs in three distinct periods of Eames life.

The first occurs the night of HGTV’s Charity Gala in 2011 there was a great deal of dancing, drinking and Eames overwhelming memory of the evening would always be watching Arthur twirl across the dance floor in a flawlessly cut tuxedo with Harriet held in his arms the two of them laughing and smiling, sharing whispered secrets that he would later come to know involved Harry’s plans to ask Joe to move into the brownstone with her. Arthur was helping her concoct valiantly original schemes when in the end all she had to do was ask and Joe fell over himself to comply. 

He would remember the swirl of Harry’s blue silk gown, the flawless curls of her brunette hair piled atop her head and the breathtaking quality of Arthur’s smile when Joe cut in and took over the dance. He would remember the way he had met Arthur’s eyes during that moment and the smile had held, the eyes had still twinkled and Arthur in a moment that still cut through Eames had raised his recovered champagne glass in salute before slipping an arm around the waist of Matt and laughing with the assembled Love it or List it team.

“You look like you could use another drink.” A deep voice said from behind him.

The man who slipped into the vacant seat beside him was tall and slim, well dressed in a tight fitted suit; the shirt open revealing a navy blue polka dot ascot. He was, on an ordinary night, exactly the type of man Eames would have tried to chat up however there was no room in Eames head tonight, not even for well dressed men in ascots and fedora’s.

“When at a party this dry one could always use another drink.” Eames said tilting back what was left of his champagne. Another appeared next to him the moment he put the glass down.  Eames thanked the man who smiled at him broadly, there was something off about that smile but Eames was on his forth glass of champagne and his senses were being numbed by the constant throbbing of his heart every time he looked too closely at Arthur in the damn tux.

“It doesn’t look like it’s dry for everyone.” The well dressed man said tilting his chin to Arthur and Matt; the pair stood at the edge of the dance floor watching Joe and Harry twirl. Eames watched as Matt leant in to whisper something into Arthur’s ear that caused a gleeful look to spread across his face, dimples and all.

“No, I suppose not.” Eames conceded taking a steady pull of champagne while he pretended not to obsess over the topic of Matt and Arthur’s conversation.

“Hmmm…it’s surprising because everyone says you’re the fun one and yet there he is the centre of attention.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your co-star that’s him isn’t it? In the Tom Ford?”

“Arthur is the one with waistcoat.”

“Ah yes Arthur that was his name and you’re Eames, yes?” Eames nodded and took the man’s outstretched hand to shake. “I’m Alec, Alec Hart you’ve probably heard of me from my show.” Eames avoided watching the other design shows on their network and as such had no idea who this man was or why he was wearing a fedora indoors.

“Sorry I can’t say I have but it’s a pleasure I’m sure.”

Alec’s face dropped momentarily but he recovered quickly his smile looking only slightly forced. “Well you should try it; you might learn something about selling a story for the camera.”

Eames did his best to smile politely but had started plotting the best escape route. He looked over and saw Arthur bowing valiantly to Flora before escorting her out on the dance floor he took his moment and tried to expedite his escape from the table.  He stood trying to find Harry in the mess of people intending to demand a dance.

“You should be careful you know it’s a hard sell trying to make that man lovable to the public.” Alec called. “If you’re ever looking for a different partner,” he held out a small rectangle of purple card “Let me know.”  

***

Eames would claim years later while laying in Joe and Harry’s garden that Alec had disappeared in a burst of hellfire cackling wildly.  He would say it to make a concerned Joe laugh and to relieve some of the tension he himself was carrying. They would sit and discuss the effect Eames saw Next Big Thing having on Arthur and how he was worried he had led them astray by trying to break them out of the Love It or List It rut they had been facing.

Harry would join them slightly later taking up residence on the wooden swing Paul had built them the previous summer and would recount the second period of Alec’s involvement in their lives, each of them cringing at different instances over those three weeks where the man had made his presence felt.

“Do you remember that time we were sat in Harry’s car and all he wanted to talk about was the People interview you did where you did you top five television stars and didn’t name him.” Joe said.

“I think he was more pissed that he had put Arthur at the top.” Harry pointed out while kicking herself higher on the swing and feeling the last of the summer sun sink into her skin.

“All I remember is that it was the evening I refused to let him give me a blow job because I feared for my dick’s safety.” Eames said with an entirely straight face. There was a moment of silence before all three of them would break into hysterical laughter Harry dropping down next to them to slap Eames across the chest hard enough for him to react.

“You’re bad men; the pair of you are terrible, terrible men.”

“Yeah but we’re your men so you can’t complain baby.” Joe would say.

Eames phone would ring and the three of them would stifle their giggles while he spoke to Arthur begging him to join them and bring meat for Barbequing. Arthur would agree and that would be how they spent the last evening of summer all those years later. Four friends, more like a family now, three of them drinking too much wine, Eames watching a puppy dance around the garden closely enough that Arthur would get concerned about one simply turning up in the home and all of them listening for the distinct noise of a baby waking upstairs.  

It would come eventually, the soft sound drifting through the open window and Arthur and Eames would argue about who got to play Godfather first. Eventually Eames would lose and Arthur would drift off upstairs, bottle in hand, giddy to collect their first Godchild. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ladies and gents is how an individual might cover up a slight timeline error.


	20. Episode 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so we're doing something a little different for the next three chapters. We're following an entire episode from this beginning to Eames and Arthur doing their thing. I'm deciding if the walk around needs it's own chapter but i'll only know when i've written it I suppose.

“When the Terrance family unexpectedly grew from three to four the couple became divided on their little home’s ability to house the next chapter of their lives.” Harry read out of shot. They were doing the first set up shots for the episode and members of Eames team have been dragged in on their day off to act as a make shift film crew after Cobb managed to drive half of Yusuf’s chosen people away. It would have been fair to say those that remained had yet to forgive Cobb, the number of times the boom mic had hit their producer on the head over the last episode was frankly ridiculous.

The blonde couple sat on two plastic garden chairs facing the camera. The couple didn’t own the chairs, no Cobb brought them to every first day of filming ‘for continuity’ he said.  Arthur had decided long ago not to fight the man on the useless mundane filming choices and instead focus on the major issues; unworkable budgets, awkward filming schedule’s and unreasonable wardrobe provisions to name a few of Arthur’s key examples. Alright so with the last one it was possible Arthur had simply steam rollered ahead without consulting Cobb, wardrobe or anyone for that matter but he refused to continue wearing ill-fitted suits  just so Eames could be bought one more ridiculous shirt. The things were eye soars and the worst thing was it wasn’t even a costume. No that was just Eames.

His life had become better when in a fit of pique the wardrobe lady had thrown up her hands and told Cobb Arthur would simply have to dress himself. He had, with gusto, taken on the challenge and now he arrived on set each day with his stainless steel coffee cup held by the black plastic handle in one hand and a suit bag emblazoned with his dry cleaners logo over the other arm. He had stopped bringing scripts the day it became obvious Eames would never use one and now simply ignored the pink pages he was handed every morning making vague noises to his assistant Tabby until he had inhaled enough of the Italian brew he bought from the deli on his block to make him feel alive.

He stood now, hands clasped around the paper cup of something Tabby insisted was coffee, Arthur would never stop doubting this, and watched as Yusuf had their makeup woman run forward to fix one of Mr. Terrance’s heavily waxed locks which had by some miracle shifted during their second take. Yusuf seemingly satisfied twirled his fingers and Harry started up her narration from the top. They kept going this time and Mrs. Terrance drifted from the script to ask.

“Doesn’t it warm your heart to come in and see all the action that’s going on?”  

Her husband, wearing a loose fitted pale blue polo shirt (fully buttoned) and beige cargo pants shook his head and looked to his wife “No it doesn’t,” he laughed bitterly, his accent had a heavy mid western edge that had obviously been tempered by his wife’s east coast roots. They’d set up home in one of the suburbs of Winthrop, there was still a hint of sea air but any residual charm from being near the coast was drowned out by the unnaturally luscious green of the manicured gardens in their neighbourhood. Said gardens could be replicated, and in Arthur’s opinion undoubtedly were, in numerous middle class districts across America.

Arthur refused the acknowledge Eames where he stood to the left of the camera deep in conversation with Joe, who Arthur noted already had a pencil pushed behind his ear and  notebook in hand. Eames was gesturing to the neighbouring house and Arthur was only slightly curious to know what he was saying, not even curious no, he was frustrated because there they were chatting. They stood off to the side like two fucking peas in a pod and Arthur was simply waiting, fake coffee in hand, for all the framing nonsense to be over so he could legitimately call Eames out for being distracted and demand he act more professionally.

 “Two experts each believe they have what it takes to bring an end to the daily debate…” Harry smiled over at him when she spoke. Arthur tried to quickly change his scowl to something more pleasant but was ninety percent certain he just looked pained.

“Realtor Arthur will be showing them spacious headache free homes.” The husband smirked at this, “While designer Eames will prove to Mason the true potential inside this cramped house.” Arthur glanced at the folio he had handed over to Tabby and swirled the remainder of his lukewarm coffee. The houses he had picked were easy, move in ready spaces and given this episode’s brief and the short time window he was confident he could pull off another win. He had been doing well this season even if Eames continued to pull miracles out of thin air on a regular basis Arthur remained a fucking fantastic real estate agent. A quick glance to Eames showed the man continued to ignore filming and was instead bent over the nearest flower bed poking something with the pencil which had previously been Joe’s. God that man was a menace, a menace with a stupidly good ass. Damn it.

“And once the work is complete what will Shannon and Mason choose to do with their house. Will they Love it or List it.” Harry finished and Cobb yelled cut while the crew started to mill around finding the best angles to shoot the background shots of the house from. Arthur and Eames were piled into cars and driven to a whole new location to do the meet and greet with the couple who have for some unknown reason brought their scrappy looking puppy to the café with them. Now Arthur loved dogs, he always had, but there was certain amount of anxiety to be derived from a tiny puppy with over grown ears being around handmade Italian loafers. Nightmare thoughts of uncontrolled puppy bladders had him shuffling closer to Eames position at their four seated table. He got so close at one point their feet met under the table which forced Arthur into doing what was probably a comically large jump. All on camera of course because that was just Arthur’s luck wasn’t it.

Eames and the couple looked at him with deep concern and Arthur was forced to flee the table in search of a bathroom and hopefully a hole deep enough for him to hide in and never be found again. He snapped the bathroom door closed behind him and lent his back against the sink using the moment of calm now rarely found in the nine months of his year filled by this train wreck of a programme.

“Darling is this where you’re hiding yourself away?” Eames asked poking his head around the bathroom door. “I thought so. Is there a reason you ran off?”

“Eames I just need a minute alright I’ll be right out. Just chat up the Terrance’s and leave me alone, alright?”

But of course Eames didn’t because Eames never did what Arthur asked him too. Eames was insistent as that puppy would be if Arthur held a piece of bacon in his hand.

“Come come Arthur you’re upset. Let me help hmmm?”

“Yeah because that worked out so well last time.” Arthur snapped. His panic moments put him on edge; he hated being faced with people so soon after losing his control. He almost cringed but refused to allow his face to betray his regret. He couldn’t help the eyebrow twitch but it was undoubtedly better than the alternative.

“You cut me deep Darling, but honestly, tell me what happened so I can help and we can get on with filming.”

What had happened? Well he had been slightly terrified of the dog peeing on the shoes he had saved what was left from two commissions to buy, he had in a moment of genius shifted away from the dog; who had it was worth noting been staring at him, and had ended up rubbing his foot up against Eames. Arthur wanted to scream that Eames surely already knew what had happened but from the puzzled look on the man’s devastating features he clearly didn’t. Likely that was because Eames wasn’t insane Arthur thought.

Arthur turned and splashed some water against his face he left the cool trickle running while he grabbed some paper towels watching it flow out of the faucet and into the bowl. “I just had a moment Eames, I’m alright now, it won’t happen again.” Eames scanned their reflections before shrugging and leading the way out of the bathroom. Arthur started running his ‘breathe deeply, relax completely’ mantra through his head when he approached the table again. He switched out their positions so he was next to the wife and the furthest from the puppy. Whether anyone noticed or not was unknown but Yusuf started them filming again and Arthur managed to stay still, his professional smile firmly in place even when Eames started in on his;

“Arthur’s the best but your house is already full of so many great memories and I know for certain that with a little hard work we can make it perfect for your brand new family dynamic.”

Arthur shot back with a reaction gif worthy eye roll and a comment about how ridiculous Eames was which only ever made the designer smile.

“I’m afraid even Mr. Eames isn’t able to magic up the extra bedroom you need or the extra living space and still come in on budget.”

“Don’t underestimate me Darling I can do anything.” Eames winked at him, the stupid British bastard.

“Alright that’s a wrap for today guys. Feel free to chat about specifics but Eames a reminder you’re set call is 6 a.m. tomorrow.” Cobb said from his perch behind Yusuf and the camera.

“Whatever you say Dominic what time is our precious Arthur needed?”

“Arthur isn’t on set tomorrow so Mr and Mrs Terrance I really would suggest you use this time to explain your specifics.” Cobb advised.

Yusuf distracted Cobb then the two of them moving off Yusuf complaining loudly about the amount of wind present when filming all day in a location so close to the coast and leaving the crew to break down the remaining equipment.

“This is so much fun; it’s so exciting to be on television.” Mrs. Terrance effused. “I bet you don’t get excited anymore but just to me, to us I should say” the woman actually tittered, “this is just such a thrill.”

Arthur didn’t know if he had ever been excited to be on television, he remembered feeling determinedly nauseous on his first day and then he spent the majority of season one behaving like a love sick Muppet but none of that seemed appropriate to share so he merely smiled, tightly, and nodded his head.

“Well you’re doing great” Eames said “And Arthur and I are really excited to be working with you. Aren’t we Darling?” Arthur’s smile became slightly more brittle. “Of course we don’t get to work together but we’re both working for you so that’s all you need to worry about.”

The woman continued to titter while the husband continued to scowl and Arthur was so suddenly sick of all of this that he just wanted to leave. He brandished over his shoulder for Tabby to come which she did, handing across the folio without a wording and flitting off god knew where.

“This is the first set of properties I’m going to be showing you. I would recommend you read through and consider what parts sound like they meet your criteria and which do not. Let me know on Tuesday when we go for the viewings and we can gain more specificity from there.” Arthur said closing the buttons on this suit jacket as he stood. Eames did the same mimicking Arthur’s movement however subconsciously. “Mr and Mrs Terrance it has been a pleasure to meet you and I look forward to finding your dream home.” He retrieved his over coat from where Tabby had left it and shot off a quick salute to Yusuf who returned it.

“Until Tuesday then,” Arthur said to their clients before turning to Eames, “and Mr. Eames, bring you’re ‘A game’ won’t you I would hate to beat you so thoroughly again.” Arthur smiled his just for Eames smile, slightly devilish with just an edge of ‘I’ll bite you if you get to close to me’ before wandering off set and completely ignoring Cobb when he shouted after him.


	21. Postcards for Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames loves postcards. There's love. There are memories and then there's a little porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright NBT Darlings how's everyone doing? 
> 
> So this chapter is so far removed from what I planned to write that I don't know how to explain it's existence. It all started because the only thing I had in my head for this chapter was the image of Eames sitting in a chair twirling and postcard between his fingers and I loved it, it intrigued me so then this happened. 
> 
> I hope you love it, I do honestly so yes. For once the concept of this is something I love. 
> 
> Now I have to fess up to something this chapter has had three tenses throughout it's existence, i've finally settled on the past but if you see anything that makes you want to scream tense wise let me know in the comments and I can fix it. My beautiful beta is a busy bee right now so this has only had my fair eyes to see it through the difficult editing phase. It's like puberty but for a fic I swear. 
> 
> Warning also ahead there is a little smut, it's probably not that explicit in relation to most of the stuff out there but for this fic it's a little wild. So yes! Enjoy!
> 
> Smooches to everyone but especially my dear Epsentinel who I hope is having a much better day today! 
> 
> RMJ X

When Eames was ten he had met a man called Francis. This man wandered into his father’s pub and set up shop in the centre of Eames mind for months. He was a snazzy dresser with wing tipped shoes, a broadly cut pinstriped suit and a starched white shirt that looked like it had cost more than Eames would get in pocket money that year. He had worn a broad smile and kissed the barmaids hand when he ordered his whisky on the rocks. Eames remembered his father had taken to him immediately; hanging onto the outsider’s stories alongside Eames each evening. 

At ten the man had fascinated Eames on a general level; he was tall and appeared to Eames to be well spoken. His stories were exotic and had always involved some ‘sweet young thing’ that he left high and dry once he moved on. Francis stayed in town for two long weeks over the summer holiday’s that year and a week after he left Eames had returned home from planning his own epic adventure (Eames’ adventure would take him into the woods at the edge of the village and would culminate in Eames spending an unpredicted night stuck in a tree nook he misjudged the size of. His mother would valiantly hold off on laughing until Eames was tucked up safe in bed a damp flannel draped over his forehead and Mr. Snuggles safely in place beside him.) Eames returned home to find a postcard with ‘NEW YORK’ emblazoned across the top of an image of the Empire State building.

That postcard took up residence on his bedroom wall that night and Eames would only take it down when he had seen the building himself and taken his own images to replace the one he had held in his dreams for so many years.

Eames loved postcards, little notes from loved ones far away but still thinking of someone wherever they were. Joe and Harry sent him and Arthur postcards from each of the stops on their honeymoon and Eames hung them around the kitchen in chronological order for the month they were away. Arthur never complained, he simply raised an eyebrow and kissed Eames on the side of the mouth muttering about Eames being sentimental. Eames wouldn’t tell Arthur just how sentimental he was until Arthur discovered one of the few secrets Eames had managed to keep for the first few months after they finally moved into their (not so) little home in Worcester.

Eames lost his blue fabric swatches in the middle of preparing for a trip to New York to meet a client and enlisted Arthur to help him find them. While Eames went diving into the mess that was their garage Arthur set about righting the chaos that was Eames study and desk. He opened draws, organised files, separated tea stained design briefs that had been doodled on during consultations until he came across three thick bundles wrapped tightly in tissue paper and tied with periwinkle ribbon.

Arthur took them from their place in Eames desk draw feeling distinctly like he was intruding and squeezed them gently to try and discover their contents. He jumped moments later when Eames bellowed up from downstairs proclaiming victory.

He quickly returned the bundle and Arthur put himself to rites and proceeded to roll his eyes at Eames who continued to act like an unorganised whirlwind. It was a week before he thought of them again. Eames was supposed to be away in New York for four days and Arthur missed him like crazy after the first six hours. He spent the first two days moping and eating terrible food, contemplating a jar of marmite before stepping away from the cupboard scared a little for his sanity.  It was then in the sugar fuelled insanity that he would remember the mystery contents of Eames desk and on the third day he would start an internal debate about the pros and cons of invading Eames privacy.

It drove him vaguely wild for a few hours before he decided to simply see how easy they were to open and go from there. They ended up being very effortless to open; all Arthur did was untie the ribbon and then there they were twenty pristine postcards surrounded by delicate tissue paper each of them from a town or landmark around Boston. Arthur pulled out the other bundles and opened them as well to find more postcards; although many of these held images of other cities from across the state and beyond Arthur recognised one from Memphis.

At the bottom of the third pile he found four from Eames village in England and intrigued he flipped these over and saw that they were addressed to him. Confused Arthur would look at the back of each of the other postcards and find that they were all addressed to him.

His full name and one time address sat on the right side of each example and Arthur didn’t remember feeling as confused in a long time. The first few were dated recently and Arthur realised quickly that Eames had written each while they were shooting and episode of Love it or List it. Arthur promptly forgot about how his actions may be construed by Eames if he were to find out and allowed himself to curl up amongst Eames mess and read the random ponderings on the back of each Bostonian image.

Most of them sported a stanza proclaiming Eames love for him but the occasional postcard contained a list of complaints about clients or his team. One simply stated ‘If our onsite bridezilla doesn’t contain her anger we’re likely to all wind up dead at some point in the next week.  Promise you’ll wait at least 6 month before taking another Darling. Love E.’ they were all signed off in the same way ‘Love E.’ and Arthur felt as if he could read how Eames mood had been while he was writing these notes. He wondered if Eames was bored when his writing became more curly and dramatic long elongated swirls dominated the bottom section of the card and were intermingled with tiny hearts.  

Arthur lost an entire evening reading the first two piles tracking their relationship back through Eames own words. He found a postcard toward the back of one pile from the hotel they were supposed to go to for a fundraiser at a few months ago. Instead of going they had lost themselves in some of the most intense sex of Arthur’s life, tuxedos were ruined in the process but they had at least managed to christen the living room properly during its construction.

 They hadn’t been at their best then and yet here that moment was immortalised in Eames handwriting; ‘I’m going to keep you forever Darling, never forget that. Love E.’ Arthur wondered why Eames never sent them, why they were hidden away here as if Eames were ashamed of them. They went back years and Arthur felt overwhelmed to be holding evidence of Eames love for him and proof of its existence but when he moved onto the third stack his heart broke a little.

This bundle contained more postcards then the others. The first few Arthur realised were from early episodes of the show and Arthur remembered each of the houses and each of Eames designs because they were the designs that Arthur first fell in love with. They existed as metaphors in his mind of how he fell for Eames and the little pieces of his heart Eames captured within those rooms.

Their messages were longer and slightly long winded. ‘You look marvellous in your suit today, your arse especially. You’re smiling at the new camera man and I think I might hate him a little Darling because those dimples should only be for me. I love those dimples. You captured my heart the first moment you shared them with me. Eternally captured I believe. Love E.’ Arthur stopped when he found one for a hotel he had only stepped foot in once during his life.

They had spent their first season wrap party there; dancing and drinking, kissing and touching, whispering seductive words to each other before finally falling into Eames bed. Eames lost himself in Arthur’s eyes when Arthur had taken them both in hand early on later Arthur had been forced to close his eyes in that first moment when Eames had pushed into his body at last, they had moved together in a disjointed rhythm as they chased each other’s orgasms and Arthur remembered clinging tightly to Eames shoulders when they finally came down from their slightly drunken high. Arthur would be scared to turn the postcard over as his mind swam with the pain the morning after had brought him but he did.

‘Arthur,

I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am. How much I hate myself because I know I just ruined the best thing that has ever happened to me by running away from you and from this.  You’re so much more than I deserve Arthur and you always will be. I’m a selfish bastard and I want you with every fibre of my being but I have to try to be good in this with you, with your heart.

 I recognise who I am and I see you for who you are. It doesn’t fit Arthur; you’re so much more than who I am or who I could ever be.  You’re going to have my heart forever Darling but I know that could never be enough to keep you happy.

My heart is yours. My love is yours. I am yours.

Forever,

Love Eames. ‘

Arthur let himself cry and he let himself feel the pain he remembered far too vividly. He had forgiven Eames a long time ago but it still hurt to see such a reminder of how wrong they had gotten it so early on. They never had managed to simply talk back then.

The next postcards are from England and Arthur didn’t have it in him to want to read them but he didn’t want them far from him, not now, so he tucked all of them back in their tissue paper bundles and carried them with him into their bedroom where he curled himself around Eames pillows and just breathed for a while.

He woke up at four in the morning to Eames climbing into bed with him and nuzzling into his neck. He wouldn’t question why he was home early and simply allowed himself to comfort of wrapping Eames in his arms and allowed the feeling of security that settled over him lull him back to sleep.

The second time he woke up it was to Eames drooling on his chest. Eames still clothed limbs flung over Arthur’s mostly naked body like a massive, paisley wearing, star fish. He noted that the postcards were still beside him and attempted to decide if it was worth hiding them. He doesn’t instead he shimmied further under the covers and pressed his lips gently against Eames’ own until the man’s snores petered off and his lips pursed in response to each of Arthur’s.

“Darling?” Eames asked his voice groggy from the deep sleep Arthur was dragging him out of. His eyes were still closed against the early morning light when Arthur chuckled to himself before pushing Eames onto his back and starting to undress him. Eames would offer no objection to Arthur’s actions and would even shift to help when he moved to remove Eames trousers.

He gasped when Arthur took his half hard cock into his mouth a sucked hard and his hips bucked up when he felt the cool press of Arthur’s fingers teasing his hole and he cried out when Arthur got those fingers pressing lightly against his prostate. Arthur moved off and Eames groaned when Arthur climbed up his body; biting lightly on the flesh of Eames chest to leave a trail of pink marks staking his claim on the man sweating and straining beneath him. “ _Arthur please_.” Eames moaned when Arthur teased his hole with the head of his cock lightly, pressing into Eames sharply before rocking his hips in retreat.

“ _Please”_ Eames entreated against his lips while Arthur hovered over him.

Arthur demanded to hear the words before he moved forward ahead of his touches changing from teasing to meaningful and before he allowed himself to penetrate Eames fully. He craved the feeling of him gripping around him hard enough to reduce Arthur to mindless words and harsh thrusts.  

“Tell me you love me Mr. Eames; tell me how badly you want me.”

“Arthur, Darling please.”

“Not before you tell me.”

“I love you Arthur, oh god please, please, I need you.” 

Arthur let the words run through his head as he thrust into Eames he allowed them to mingle with Eames shouts as he pushed back against Arthur rolling his hips fiercely as he pulled Arthur closer, he allowed the words to etch their way onto the memory he held of that weekend when he swore his heart broke because of this man because this was who he and Eames were now.

Eames came apart beneath him his come decorated both of their chest’s while Arthur lost himself in the increased speed of his thrusts. He let Eames hold him when he came and appreciated that the man didn’t force him to look at him while he clings and regained his normal breathing pattern.

“Not that I’m complaining, because I will never complain about a homecoming like that, but I have a feeling there might be something else on your mind other than how handsome I look before I’m conscious.” 

Arthur didn’t let himself think much before answering attempted not to over complicate this situation with a lie, “I found your postcards.”

Neither of them said anything and Arthur reluctantly moved himself away from Eames body, shuddering when he pulled out of him, to reach the three stacks where they were resting on his bedside table.

“I’m sorry I looked without asking. I didn’t know what they were when I found them the other week and I was intrigued.”

Eames stroked the tissue paper wrapping and still said nothing. He didn’t look at Arthur when he rolled out of bed and Arthur was pretty sure there was about to be yelling and that it would be entirely deserved. Eames knelt over his abandoned luggage and pulled something out of the shoulder bag he used as a carry on. 

“I started writing these so long ago that it actually became habit. I have always loved postcards, sending them and receiving them, but these are special. I started these because I didn’t want to come across as a stalker but I wanted to tell you things. Things about how much I liked you and how wonderful you were mostly and I kept writing them because I thought I would eventually give them to you; when I finally won you, but then I cocked up and it all came tumbling down around my ears.” Eames sighed but climbed back into bed beside Arthur so Arthur let his breathing calm a little. “I loved you desperately Arthur, for a very long time, and when I knew I had hurt you. When I realised you didn’t want to talk to me. It broke me a little I missed you so much, everyday really. This was a way for me to still tell you, even if you never saw them, it was something for you from me and some where I could tell you how I felt without having to risk getting hurt or hurting you because I swear Darling I think that might have killed me.” Eames handed over two postcards both were from New York and both had messages on the back. “I couldn’t pick this time so I bought you two; I was going to pick the best one to keep.”

“Keep both.” Arthur pleaded quietly his hands trembling as he held the cards, “Always keep both Eames, I want you to keep all of them.”  

“I couldn’t love you more Arthur. I want to tell you every way I can. This was and is just another way.”

“I’m sorry I invaded your privacy.” Arthur said quickly because he’s still not convinced an argument isn’t about to happen.

“It’s alright Darling they were for you after all. Did you read them all?” Eames asked as he pulled the ribbon on one of the packages and flicked through its contents.

“No, I only got through two and a half. I stopped at the hotel one from that night.” Arthur said as he turned the new additions to read their messages. One was written slightly rough French and Arthur giggled at Eames attempts at French seduction.

“Ah yes. My self-hatred phase.” Eames said pulling the postcard out and reading the back silently. “God I was a mess.” Eames scrubbed and hand through his short hair, Arthur leaned over and licked the tattoo on his bicep in the way Eames had mentioned in the French postcard.

“I love you too. You know that don’t you Eames.” Arthur muttered into Eames arm raising his head to perch his chin on the man’s shoulder.

“Yes I do. You love me very much and you tell me every day.” Arthur moved to place his hands on the side of Eames face and make him look at him because Arthur thinks Eames might be losing himself in memories and not pleasant one’s, Arthur would rather he lose himself in how much love Arthur had always felt for him.

“I can’t tell you how much I love you Eames because there are no words for it but I do. I love you with my whole heart.”

“I know Arthur, I know, you don’t need to panic.”

Eames would pull Arthur in so he was tucked into his chest while they look over the rest. Eames chuckled occasionally and expanded on the stories behind each postcard and memory. They lost most of the day in Eames telling him stories and Arthur allowing the tension in his stomach unfurl.

Arthur chuckled when Eames pulled out one from Winthrop and he remembered that couple and the explosive argument Eames got into with the father about not being a ‘knob head’ to his wife and family.

“Don’t you dare laugh Arthur that man was a menace?” Eames pouted, his bottom lip sticking out in a way that invited Arthur to lean forward and bite it lightly.

“Yes he was.” Arthur agreed between kisses and small shifts of his hips.

“He was and I was defending yours and that poor woman’s honour.” Eames said as he let his hands map Arthur’s back and grip his buttocks to bring him into further contact with Eames rapidly filling erection.

“Wait my honour?” Arthur held himself up off Eames lap.

“Yes! The bastard called you incompetent. You’re the best Darling. I’m glad I called him out.” Eames explained losing himself in tracing Arthur’s nipples with the point of his tongue.

“It made good television.” Arthur gasped out.

“It was like a soap opera that week and everything went so well with the build.” Eames muttered into Arthur’s chest and he shifted between nipples and Arthur increased the speed with which he moved over Eames.

“Yes and the search. It was smooth sailing until that man opened his mouth.” Eames tightened his hold on Arthur as he rolled them.

Eames chuckled against Arthur’s neck before kissing Arthur’s sweaty brow, “I rather hated myself that season you know. I loved you and I wanted to apologise and just make everything better but I had no idea how to. You were everything to me and I fell a little more in love each episode but you just hated me.” Eames shifts his hip so his and Arthur’s erections can slide against each other more directly.

“I never hated you Eames. I loved you madly but I was so angry.”  Arthur panted harshly when Eames shifted his legs so Arthur’s body was more exposed to his gaze.

“I hurt you.” Eames said running his fingers reverently down Arthur’s chest and the dusting of hair leading down from his belly button.

“Yes.” Arthur agreed because it was true, he had been heart broken back then.

“Why did you ever forgive me Darling?” Eames said his hands halting in their journey. He wouldn’t meet Arthur’s gaze.

“Because I love you, because I don’t believe that what you’ve written about yourself on that postcard is true and I have always believed that are wonderful for me.”

“You’re wonderful for me too Darling.” Eames moved off him leaning across to the draw of Arthur’s bedside table to find the lube and Arthur nearly cries with relief because his body is trembling for Eames now.

“Even though I invade your privacy?” Arthur asked before arching off the bed as Eames bit his hip.

“You can invade any part of me Darling.” Eames waggled his eyebrows and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous puns. “I’m all yours Arthur.”

Arthur pulled him in for a kiss, “And I’m yours Eames. All yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also check on the related fics for two new fluffy pieces belonging to this universe that might just give you cavities! 
> 
> Ta ta for now Lovebugs!


	22. Season Two

Season two of Love it or List it ends without fan fair. They already know they have a third season and both Eames and Arthur have come to terms with the idea of working together in the short term. 

Eames takes the experience as an exercise in self flagellation and focuses both on being utterly besotted with Arthur and turning his body into a far too muscled piece of art. Joe has to forcibly drag him away from tattoo parlors on a semi regular basis and all too often their night's out end with the two of them drawing on each other's arms with marker pens. 

Harry is responsible for anything more complicated than getting a glass of juice the next day.

As the other half of the presenting duo Arthur splits his time evenly between spending the majority of his developing wealth on beautiful clothes and charming Harry and most of Eames crew with his no nonsense approach to work. 

Wanting to work with Arthur becomes a regular grumble on work sites when Eames brain takes him on a design tangent no one but him seems to understand.

Everything goes swimmingly. Arthur and Eames shake hands as Dom calls an end to the last day of shooting. Joe steals a kiss from an unsuspecting Harry before jogging over to help Yusuf and his team dismantle the recording equipment. 

Out of the corner of his eye Joe watches Eames dither around Arthur trying to gather the courage to speak to him. Five minutes later he watches Eames give up as Arthur brushes past him without acknowledgement. 

Eames shakes it off and plasters that fake smile Joe hates on to his face before saying goodbye to Dom and the other production crew. He wanders towards the group just as Harry loops an arm around Eames waist and calls him a wastrel. 

Yes everything is absolutely fine. It's not good. It's pretty far from good really but Joe comforts himself that with Arthur engaging an air of detached professionalism their lives on set will likely get no worse. 

Turns out season three of Love it or List it would be a game changer. But none of them knew it yet.


	23. Joe + Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness and Sadness. All from Harry's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Darling's,
> 
> I need to warn you all that this chapter is pretty sad and I'm very sorry for that.
> 
> If any of the following are triggers for you please don't read. 
> 
> *Early term miscarriage  
> *Cancer  
> *Grief
> 
> Love RMJ X

Joe proposes on the tenth of August without a speech prepared and without much fanfare. He cooks dinner, buys Harry’s favourite wine and when they are laid on the grass in the garden ignoring the noises of their city and watching the planes flitting around in the twilight pretend to be stars he asks her to marry him.

She doesn’t say anything immediately and then she asks if he thinks it will change anything between them if they get married. He says no but that he would quite like to do it anyway and Harry laughs but agrees. They make love in the garden and afterward Joe comments that the helicopters drifting over head probably got an excellent view of his arse. Over all it’s nothing swoon worthy but it’s very them.

They visit his mum in hospital the next day and Harry wonders if watching the woman who raised him slip away is the reason Joe’s suddenly come over all sentimental. She wouldn’t blame him. She thinks she might just love him a little more. He kisses his mother on the temple and wipes away a small piece of sleep from her eye. They don’t tell her family for two weeks.

Eames woops and Arthur smiles, overall no one is surprised but everyone is thrilled. They organise a garden party to celebrate and because any excuse for Joe to grill steaks is excellent in Harry’s opinion.

***

Harry finds out she is pregnant a week before the party. She’s excited and terrified. She doesn’t tell anyone, even Joe, because it’s still early. She starts to talk to her stomach when she’s alone though. She taps on the soft surface and attempts to communicate through Morse code just how excited she is to be growing her baby inside her. She tries to pretend the morning sickness isn’t a bitch but she would be lying to herself if she said she succeeded.

She whispers her secret to Joe’s Mother on Tuesday afternoon when she goes to read Gulliver’s Travels to her. She tells her to get well so she can meet her grandchild, she prays while holding her hand that her baby gets to meet the one member of their Dad’s family that’s not a colossal fool.

It’s another two days before she tells Joe, they’re walking through Whole foods choosing salad ingredients and Harry bemoans Joe’s obsession with beats yet again and promises that if he tries to convince her they make good crisps again she might just vomit all over his shoes. He’s puzzled as Harry hasn’t been ill since a bout of flu had her bed bound for two weeks in the middle of a build last season. Joe finds out he’s going to be a father while holding a bunch of carrots. It seems very important to explain this to people when he tells the story later.

They tell Eames first, well second truly but Eames is much more responsive to the news than Joe’s Mum, there is some screaming and a great deal of hugging. He scoops Harry up and twirls her around. Joe worries about this until he sees the happy smile of Harry’s face and decides twirling is definitely allowed.  Eames is thrilled at the prospect of being an Uncle for the first time.

Joe and Harry promise each other not to tell anyone else until after their first doctor’s appointment.

Harry tells her Grandmother anyway and her Grandmother is thrilled. She always did like babies.

***

Arthur insists on there being dancing at the party, Arthur loves to dance, so Eames dutifully hires and sets up a dance floor in a corner of the back garden so Arthur can shake his metaphorical tail feathers and Eames can watch him in the least stalkerish way possible.

Eames and Arthur actually dance together for the first time since Love it or List it's first season wrap party. Harry thinks they look a great deal less awkward than any of them would have anticipated. It could be because Arthur is quite drunk by the time the dancing starts or it might be because Eames is looking pretty dashing in this tux jacket and slacks. Harry and the few single members’ of the production team that are gathered around watch the shift of both men’s buttocks through their trousers with unabashed appreciation.

Harry dances with Arthur while they watch Eames and Joe do an imitation of a waltz combined with a tango. She’s amazed they both come out of the resulting tangle of limbs with no broken bones. Their friends toast them under the Chinese lanterns Harry has strung up to frame the lawn, she smiles and raises the sparkling apple juice she has been drinking all evening to not let on that her alcohol allotment now sits at zero.  Pregnancy did come with sacrifices.

Harry end her night by walking in on Matt and Luke making out against her antique dining table and decides that as long as they don’t fuck on it she’ll learn to live with the mental image.

***

They fall asleep three hours later with friends and family camped out in nearly every room of their house. Joe falls asleep wrapped around Harry like an octopus.

The house is silent at 3:17 AM when Harry wakes up in a cold sweat. She crawls out of Joe’s embrace surprised at how much sweat simply sleeping wrapped around each other in September could produce. She feels as if there’s liquid running all over her when she stumbles into the bathroom and throws up in the sink.

It takes her four minutes to realise what she is feeling isn’t sweat and forty two seconds more before she can make any noise above a whispered cry of shock and grief. Joe breaks the door down to find her crouched over on the floor her face pressed to the cool glass of the stand alone shower.

Eames drives them to the emergency room.

No one talks.

Arthur sits by her bedside when Joe has to walk outside for a cigarette because he can’t handle looking at the raw grief on his fiancé’s face anymore. Eames wraps him in an embrace that lasts for far longer than Joe would normally allow, they stand underneath the neon emergency room sign and Joe lets himself cry.  Let’s himself grieve the child he will now never know and the mother he has accepted he is slowly losing.

Harry doesn’t speak to anyone but Arthur for two days. Eames and Matt strip the entire bedroom of any sign of blood or distress. Frankie scrubs the bathroom floor and sink with enough bleach that the entire town house smells of it for a week. 

Joe carries Harry into her Grandmother’s room when she gets released. She still doesn’t speak to him but she does sleep. Arthur feeds her soup. Eames brings her tea. Eames and Arthur interact more in the two weeks Harry hides away from the world in her Grandmother’s room than they have in a year.

Joe smokes. Eames brings him tea as well. Arthur brings him sandwiches which he doesn’t eat. Frankie brings him whiskey which he ends up pouring down the sink when the man leaves. He refuses to become his father.  He visits his mum. He calls his brother and wishes he hadn’t.  He gets his old guitar out of the office and writes music Harry can hear from her Grandmother’s bed.

Harry let’s herself cry until she doesn’t want to anymore. She still writes Morse code messages to the bundle of cells that no longer exist. She writes Joe’s mother a letter because she doesn’t think she can stand to tell a dying woman she lost her Grandchild before it even arrived.

Harry is surprised when she wakes up one morning and doesn’t feel numb. No one makes Harry move but eventually she does. She comes downstairs and sits on Joe’s lap while he sits on the stairs that go from the deck into the garden. She tells him she loves him. He asks her to marry him again. She says yes. She will always say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard to write, it's been on the time line for this story for a very long time and we were unfortunately at the moment it was supposed to appear. 
> 
> Sometimes there are chapter's you know you can skip or skim over and then sometimes there are ones you have to write. This is an important chapter for Harry and I wanted to do it justice. I hope I did. 
> 
> RMJ X


	24. New York and Long Island

Joe’s mum dies in her sleep two weeks after Harry loses the baby.

There’s not a great deal anyone can say to make the feeling any better. Joe and Harry lock themselves away from the world for a week before deciding Boston holds no happiness for them in that moment and taking themselves away for a month the day after Joe lays his mother to rest.

Eames doesn’t protest but he does feel abandoned, left without his two closest friends and feeling somewhat removed from the processes he normally follows to find inspiration for his designs. He goes to parties and drinks more alcohol than Joe would have let him. He sleeps with more men than Harry would have let pass without comment or a raised eyebrow. He takes himself to New York and drifts between districts of Manhattan looking for inspiration and someone to fill the void in his heart and head that had come back in full force after watching the way Arthur nursed Harry in the height of her grief. 

He takes up with a young artist he meets at the top of the Rockefeller Center one Tuesday evening at the twilight. He’s slim and wearing a well fitted but cheap suit, his shoes are scuffed and he’s got hair that’s a little too long in front. He’s leaning over the barrier at the edge of the balcony just enough that Eames decides the man is a thrill seeker, that and the man’s bum looks firm and round, Eames likes that.

Eames picks him up there and then,  a few well placed lines, a wink, a scandalous comment about Brian Carter’s Abstract Manhattan and they go for a drink in a bar a block over. The man let’s Eames fucks him raw in the grotty bathroom of the dive bar while bracing his hands against rough stone walls which graze his palms. The man’s name is Samuel and he sobs his name when he smacks his arse and makes him cum impossibly hard with his cock pressed right up against the wall. He invites Eames back to his apartment when it’s over and Eames has cleaned him up with a damp cotton handkerchief he found in his pocket. Eames can think of no reason not to. He can see a fleck of his cum still clinging to the man’s eyebrow and really wouldn’t it be the height of bad manners to tell some poor bloke to fuck off right after he had cum all over his face.

The apartment is small, more a studio than a loft, and Eames feels like he takes up too much room no matter where he stands or sits. He lets Sam lead him to bed and stays there with the man for a long weekend in which Eames tries to fuck his grief and heart break out and Sam attempts to bury his sexuality crisis and the guilt of having a high school sweetheart he has back home in Michigan.  

Eames doesn’t find out about Sally for another three weeks and by that point it’s all a bit too much because Sam has lost his head in guilt and infatuation and Eames, having realized the power he now wields over this twenty something twink, is fighting another stream of self loathing powerful enough to make him push aside his morals and continue to enjoy the pleasures of Sam’s willing body and constant pleading. The sex is angry and painful, it’s terrible and wonderful in equal measure and Eames loses track of the number of times he makes Sam wait to cum until he’s begging and hoarse.

Joe calls him at the start of the fifth week, asks him where he is and would he like to come to Long Island for a week before filming starts on season three. Eames looks over at Sam’s bed curled in on itself in the mess of sheets sleeping soundly and Eames says yes. He leaves Sam that night with the artificial light of Manhattan’s garment district spilling through his flimsy curtains. He leaves a note but no number.  He feels ashamed but not enough to turn around and go back. Not enough to wake the man up and say good bye.  

Eames takes a train to Long Island and on route he tries to push away his depression and guilt. He doesn’t succeed and when he pulls into South Hampton and see’s Harry, hair shorn short and distressed denim jeans and one of Joe’s band shirts covering her thin frame he feels tears prick his eyes.

She sits up on the bonnet of their battered old ford with her head tilted back to catch the sunshine of her tanned skin. She looks different than Eames remembers, thinner and more worn around the edges, but when she catches sight of him and grins he can still see the young woman that barged into his life so many years ago. She waves and bounces off the bonnet to let Eames sweep her off her feet and into a hug. She doesn’t complain even though he knows he’s holding her to close, too tight to be comfortable, she seems to recognize how much he needs this and she throws her arms around his neck to hold on to him just as intensely.

They stand together like that as the other passengers swarm around them and Eames dropped rucksack.

“You don’t look good Eamesie,” Harry whispers in his ear.

“Neither do you sunshine,” Eames breaths out through another wave of tears. He puts Harry back on her feet and lets her gently wipe the tears from his beard covered cheeks.

“We should work on that.” Harry states and Eames nods before picking up her back pack and wandering with her to the truck.

They spend the week walking the beaches and talking design. Joe had taken Harry to Morocco and the pair at been tourists for a while before moving on to Egypt and finally England. They had visited Joe’s family, had a very awkward afternoon tea with his brother before fleeing further south to bask in the love of Albert and Maggie until they felt that returning to the States was right.

They stay in Harry’s Uncles beach house and Eames marvels at how someone with so much money can have such terrible taste in design. The room he is staying in has bed linen that matches the drapes that in turn match the wall paper. Eames thinks if it weren’t for his love for Harry and Joe he would have been forced to tear the place to pieces and start the house over from the ground up.

Joe doesn’t speak much, Harry says he hasn’t since his mother died, but he smiles and laughs when appropriate. He and Eames play tennis and grow truly ridiculous beards that Harry demands they shave the day before they head back to Boston. Promotion starts next weeks and all three of them are in need of some TLC before facing cameras and the intense scrutiny of Dom Cobb first thing in the morning.

Eames gets rid of the beard and admits that he looks better without it. Joe seems more reluctant but after a couple of well placed kisses from Harry complies and the pair look a little more like themselves when they pack up the truck and Joe drives them off the Island.

Harry sleeps with her face pressed against the glass of the window and Joe hums something under his breath that Eames recognizes but doesn’t know well enough to name. He thinks it’s French. It makes him think of Arthur which in turn starts a swarm of metaphorical butterflies loose in his stomach.  They arrive back in Boston at six and Eames waves good bye to the pair before facing his solitary and dust covered apartment.


	25. Season 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Arthur have the best ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Morning Snuckleberry Darlings! 
> 
> Snuckleberry is not a real thing but you're all unreal in your loveliness and as such it works as a nickname. 
> 
> There will be a few chapters that interweave more than normal coming up so fingers crossed this works. 
> 
> Smooches sweeties
> 
> RMJ X

It’s Arthur and Harry who decide to leave for the big build four days before anyone else.

“It’s in Washington Joe I’ve never been to Washington.”

“Harry I’m not saying no I’m just asking whether travelling alone with Arthur and Eames is a good idea.” Joe says pushing aside Harry’s latest malformed experiments in bread making to reach the sliced wholemeal he used for toast in the mornings. 

“They’ve been getting on much better this season” Harry yells from the cellar where she had already lost most of her morning fighting with the ancient washer her father refused to get rid of for some unknown reason.

“Getting on better than murdering each other yes, getting on well nope,” Joe mutters pushing down the toaster handle until it clicks and then turning to stare longingly at the drip coffee machine which was still chugging water through the likely overfilled filter Harry had fitted that morning before going to war with the washing machine. “Why can you never put in a normal amount of grounds woman? Coffee does not need to have the consistency of treacle.”

There’s a victorious yell followed by Harry’s light footsteps jogging up the stairs toward the kitchen. She appears, slightly dust covered and Joe plants a light kiss on her neck when she wriggles between him and the toaster to steal the muesli from the top shelf. He reaches for one of the white bowls she prefers without Harry asking and the couple descend into the happy contentment of their sundrenched Boston townhouse on a Sunday morning.  

“Did you speak to Eamesie about it?” Harry asks from behind the culture page, her mouth full of oats and seeds. Joe likes to tease her about the drop of milk that clings to the corner of lips, he likes to lean over and kiss away the droplet sweet with honey and Harry’s own coco butter lip balm and call her a Messy Muppet. He’s never had a lover who so easily exists with him in domesticity as Harry.

“Yeah he’s down with it. Wanted to know if he could bring the bloke he’s seeing.”

“Oh God really?” Harry says throwing the paper down and huffing out a breath that flicks a loose section of her pony away from her forehead for a moment just to have it land back in the same spot.

“Yep,” Joe says popping his lips on the ‘p’ “Looks like he likes this one.”

“But he’s so terrible Joe!”

“I know I know but try telling Eames that.”

“We shouldn’t have too! He should just be able to look at him, see that stupid fucking fedora, and run the fuck away. Fucking Alec Hart. Tell me you didn’t tell him he could bring him?”

“I don’t disagree, the man is clearly a psychopath. Of course not Eames may be like a brother to me but that doesn’t mean I’m entertaining his latest Arthur imitation boyfriend.”

“That time they came here for dinner and he ate nothing! Said he was gluten intolerant. There was no fucking gluten in that steak.” Harry said waving her hands around as if to illustrate the sheer amount of stupidity Alec had bought into their home.

“Harry I know but Eames likes him what can we do?” Joe asks sipping his coffee and adding more half and half because it was a Sunday and Sunday called for extra half and half.

“We can lock him and Arthur in a room together and force them to talk about their feelings and the fact they desperately want to fuck each other’s brains out.” Harry says before violently reopening the paper and managing to dislodge two pages in the process. “Fucking fedora wearing dick head didn’t even try my crème brûlée. I made that especially.” Harry mutters her visage blocked by The Boston Globe.

Joe gets up and slips a hand on Harry’s shoulder “We came up with a good use for the extra brûlée honey pie.” He bites her ear lightly as a bright pink blush spreads up his fiancé’s neck and cheeks.

“Oh you’re a bad man Joseph.”  

“Hmm and don’t you forget it love.”

***

It’s another two weeks before they set off at dawn. Arthur arrives first his usual suit cast aside for a blazer and loose jeans. He offers Joe a large espresso and grunts a greeting before collapsing onto the short stone staircase next to Harry who was contributing to the packing effort by staying out the Joe’s way while he fusses around the truck bed and secures a tarp to protect their suitcases from the rain they were likely to encounter while heading west.

“Remind me again why we’re not flying?” Arthur asks his head tilted back in a way that exposes his neck to the faint rays of run bouncing off the tinted back windows of the silver Ford.

“Pretty sure that one’s on my man and Eames; Dom said if we were driving we could take the first load of kit and write off the extra expense as a work cost. Those massive lumps at the back that Joe’s fussing over the most are most of the audio equipment and lighting. At least the pieces Yusuf trusted us with.”

“So it’s Dom’s fault?” Arthur asks while pulling on his sunglasses.

“Isn’t everything?” Harry poses and the pair laughs loud enough for Joe to send them a confused glance.

A white taxi cab pulls up and Joe watches with mild disgust as Alec smoothes Eames hair and plants a large kiss on his lips. He spares Harry and Arthur a look but the pair is so busy giggling at Harry’s smart phone that neither of them has noticed the car pull up.

Eames extracts himself from the smothering touches of Alec ‘octopus arms’ Hart and dutifully waves as his boyfriend pulls away. Joe then watches Eames drop his duffle bag and ruffle his short hair before pulling off the ugly too tight jumper he’s managed to squeeze his tattoos into and tossing the apparently offensive garment onto the top of his clothing.

“New jumper Eames?” Joe asks and Eames shoots him the bird before throwing his duffle up for Joe to find a space amongst the filming detritus and Arthur’s many bags.

“Everyone ready to rock and roll?” Eames asks the pair on the staircase who look up at him like they worry for his sanity but as that’s a normal look for either Harry or Arthur to shoot Eames Joe figures they’re as ready as they are ever going to be.

“Yup all set. Everyone load up.” Joe claps his hands and calls as if there are more than four of them and they weren’t collected on a deserted Boston sidewalk.  

Harry pushes herself up and asks Joe something about snacks. Eames isn’t listening; he watches Arthur stretch his neck and offers him a hand. Arthur smiles slightly in that way he only ever does when it’s too early for him to remember he hates Eames with a passion and accepts it. They allow their hands to linger and Eames would swear he hears Arthur sigh. But the moment is broken and Harry shouts,

“Road Trip!” loud enough to wake their neighbours.  


End file.
